


Of Whizzer and Wizardry

by marvinandwhizzer



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, hpverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-01 00:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvinandwhizzer/pseuds/marvinandwhizzer
Summary: Marvin Feldman, heir to a Noble and Most Ancient house and its considerable fortune, hates his perfect life. He wastes away his days with his duties as Head of the Department of Ministry Budgeting, a job he would rather do anything other than continue. One uneventful day in Marvin's dull life becomes slightly less dreary when Auror Whizzer Brown somehow transforms his meaningless world into something wonderfully unrecognisable.





	1. Twilfit and Tattings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Welcome to the first of many chapters in my new hpverse au for Falsettos. This is most likely going to be novel-length, as I have SO many ideas for it that I can't wait to write. So so so many thanks to the amazing Cat ( returnoftheborle.tumblr.com ), who has been my rock in planning this all out. I hope you enjoy! -Erin ( christian-borle.tumblr.com )

**Chapter One - Twilfit and Tattings**

 

Marvin was bored.

 

It wasn't as if being bored was any great achievement in his line of work; as well as it paid to be Head of the Department of Ministry budgeting, it was far from thrilling. He didn’t even need the money, given that he was a Feldman, something pretty much synonymous with the phrase ‘set for life’ in the Wizarding world. His parents, however, had pushed him in the direction of a ‘respectable career’, and there he festered, wishing every day that the next one wouldn't be the same. They always were, every hour blending into another in a blur of monotony. Hopes, dreams and optimism were not traits the heir to the considerable Feldman legacy was permitted to possess.

 

On paper, sure, he had the perfect life. He’d married at twenty, become a father at twenty-two, and at just thirty he was head of an influential ministerial department. Staring at the pile of papers on his desk and groaning as another stack flew into the room, his life didn't seem quite so appealing. Twelve more torturous minutes dragged on by, and _finally_ it was time for his break. His lunchtime was at 1pm; to avoid the whole ministry stopping as one to eat, breaks were staggered and each worker was allotted a time slot. Marvin was just so _lucky_ as to break at the same time as the junior auror, meaning that what should have been a quiet, relaxing time in which he collected his cafeteria sludge and stared into the distance, contemplating how much he hated his life, was instead interrupted by-

 

“Hey handsome!” Auror Brown greeted as he strutted past Marvin’s table like an oversized peacock to his large group of friends at the end of the lunch hall.

 

He was interrupted by _that,_ the junior auror in his mid-twenties who seemed to make it his life’s mission to annoy Marvin. He really didn't understand how the other man was so clearly self-assured at so relatively young an age. Perhaps confidence came with the role of law enforcement, some hidden perk that they neglected to put on the brochure. One couldn't exactly believe everything the department told the excitable students on careers day, however. If Marvin had to summarise his job in a truthful bullet point list, it wouldn't be an attractive career path.

 

_Here at the Department of Ministry Budgeting, we can offer exciting things such as:_

 

  * __Contemplating your meaningless existence.__


  * _Wondering if such a terrible occupation is worth its minimal perks._


  * _Paperwork. So much paperwork. If you ever see paperwork again outside of this job you'll probably scream._


  * _Literally nothing interesting. Nothing at all_



 

 

"Sure you don't want to come sit with us, babe?" Brown teased, waving him over over-exaggeratedly. Marvin knew Brown was only doing it to annoy him, as he was one of very few that refused to pay attention to the handsome auror. His lack of interest made him interesting. Funny, that.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Quite sure, thank you, Brown.”

 

“That’s Whizzer to you, sweetheart!”

 

Marvin didn't reply.

 

\------

 

Marvin, as scion of the Noble and Most Ancient house of Feldman, had always understood that his life was not truly his own, that he had a duty to his family lineage. Tradition only required that he produce a son and heir, so naturally Jason had been the happiest addition to his life that he ever could have dreamed. However, he must admit that his elation was perhaps a tad misplaced. He had never enjoyed Trina’s enthusiastic attempts to “produce an heir”, as much as the poor woman had tried to ensure his enjoyment. Now, only his occasional worries that he was “broken” and “not a real man” would prompt him to engage in marital duties, now that he didn’t technically need to.

 

“I’m sure that Jason would love a little brother or sister!” Trina would try to persuade him, giving him what she thought was a “come hither” expression. It just made Marvin feel ill. She had never been the least bit attractive to him. Perhaps, had he not been contractually bound to her since infancy, he could have found a woman he truly desired. Maybe another wife could have made him happy.

 

He was snapped out of his reverie as a large group of people bustled past him, depositing their trays of dirty dishes at the kitchens’ serving hatch, where house elves hurried to collect them. He’d sat alone, staring off into space, for thirty minutes of a lunch break that was only forty. Technically, he was supposed to have eaten quickly and then go to get his new robes for the upcoming Ministry Ball. It seemed that he would need to go after work had finished. At least it meant that he could delay getting home for an extra hour or so, perhaps even stretch it out with a fabricated story about Twilfit and Tattings being particularly busy. A small smile spread across his face at the thought, almost but not quite countering his guilt at how joyfully he’d avoid his family.

 

“What’re you grinning at?” his over enthusiastic assistant enquired as Marvin re-entered the Department of Ministry Budgeting. He sighed, having hoped for months that the young man’s peppy attitude would die down, but it was not to be. Marvin knew for a fact that he had been decidedly more serious at Perkins’ age, which was pretty much fresh out of Hogwarts.

 

“Nothing, Perkins,” he replied curtly, the smile well and truly wiped from his face. “Just thinking about my beautiful wife.”

 

“How sweet, sir!” Perkins exclaimed with one of his signature beaming smiles. Marvin wondered if the kid could be any more of a Hufflepuff. “Will I finally get to meet her at the ball?”

 

“I imagine so, Perkins. Now, can we please get back to work? I hear that the Department of Magical Games and Sports have requested a new grant for-”

 

He was cut off as Perkins hurried over with a pile of paperwork, meeting him halfway en route to his desk and eagerly continuing Marvin’s sentence. “For the new range of Whirlwind brooms? Yes, the English team needs a bursary of two million galleons, but I think if we suggest earlier -but still national level- brooms such as the Oculus 35 for the reserve players then we’ll only need two-thirds of the proposed budget!” he exclaimed, brandishing the calculations he must have made over his lunch break. “What do you think, sir?”

 

“Perfect, thank you. I’ll look over the stats but your proposal seems well in order. Nice work,” he replied. At that, Perkins looked excited enough to wet himself, rather like an oversized Labrador puppy that had just been given a whole ham. They were such polar opposites, Richmond Perkins and Marvin Feldman. For one, Perkins was from a muggle family as opposed to one of the Noble and Ancient families. This was a detail that Marvin had neglected to mention to his vehemently traditionalist parents when talking about work, as they’d likely get the poor boy fired to keep his influence away from their perfect pureblooded son. Another large difference was that Perkins seemed to actually _enjoy_ calculating ministry expenditure, in his own nerdy way, whereas to Marvin it was like watching paint dry.

 

Actually, watching paint dry was seeming more and more appealing by the second.

 

Somehow, he managed to make it through his shift, which was a modern day miracle if ever he’d seen one. Remembering McGonagall’s speech about how your career should be “something you love and enjoy”, he scoffed. What a steaming pile of hippogriff dung. If that were actually a requirement, he would have been able to pursue his passion for experimental charms without his father dismissing it as “too girly for a future Lord Feldman”. Even a handwritten plea from Flitwick to his parents, begging them to not let Marvin’s talent go to waste, had been ignored. It had actually made it worse, as his mother had called the professor a “filthy goblin half-breed”.

 

He hadn’t stopped using charms in his day-to-day life, however. With a complex wand movement and a silent mental command of _Verumesta_ , the mess of completed paperwork before him ordered itself chronologically and flew neatly into place on his desk. “I’m off, Perkins!” Marvin informed his assistant, the man nodding absentmindedly in response without glancing up from his own mountain of work, and walked briskly out of the office door. Leaving work was nearly always the highlight of Marvin’s day, as depressing a fact as that was.

 

Stepping into one of the many grates reserved for ministry personnel in the Atrium, Marvin threw the floo powder and clearly stated “Twilfit and Tattings”. In a flurry of fireplaces, he was whisked away to his destination.

 

To the proud man’s dismay, he stumbled slightly upon exiting the hearth at the other end, falling into strong arms which quickly righted him. Marvin shivered at the action, though unsure as to why he had done so. When he looked up to thank his savior, he had to fight back a groan of despair. Of _course_ it had to be Auror Brown.

 

“I know I’m breathtaking, but there’s no need to literally fall for me,” he teased, testing Marvin’s patience as he struggled to stay civil.

 

“Thank you for your assistance, Auror. I assure you I’m not usually prone to stumbling like a novice.”

 

“Think nothing of it, sweetheart. It’s Marvin, right? And I said earlier that you can call me Whizzer, everyone does,” the handsome auror replied, winking at the end of his sentence for emphasis.

 

Marvin, again, shivered. Was it cold and he just hadn’t registered it?

 

“Though I appreciated your aid, I hardly think it warranted such a degree of informality,” he responded curtly, rather vexed by the other man’s brazenness.

 

Before Brown could once more insist that Marvin use his ridiculous name, a bespectacled gentleman with a painstakingly styled moustache hurried over to him. “Sir, I’m incredibly sorry, but there will be a short delay. Normally I would, of course, fast-track your service, but Lord and Lady Greengrass are currently being fitted by our two tailors,” he apologised.

 

“But of course, I understand completely,” Marvin acknowledged. Lord Greengrass, an aging man who had remained neutral in the Second Wizarding War, did not outrank Marvin’s family- he was of equal social standing to Marvin’s father. As a lord, however, versus Marvin’s status as an heir, he did rank higher. “Would you please show me to a seat while I wait?”

 

“Certainly, sir!” the shop assistant affirmed, quickly showing Marvin to a waiting room full of straight-backed velvet chairs.

 

“Wait a minute, mister,” Auror Brown complained from behind the assistant, who had been completely and deliberately ignoring his presence. “I’ve been standing by the damn fireplace twenty minutes and not once was I offered a seat!”

 

“Oh, they’re not for you, _sir_ ,” the assistant told him snidely. “This area is for the noble families that frequent our premises, not…” he paused as if holding back an insult; Brown was still wearing his Auror’s robes, after all. “Not _your sort_.”

 

“Excuse you?! _My_ sort?” Brown protested indignantly. “You prejudiced piece of-”

 

“He’s with me, don’t worry,” Marvin told the assistant, cutting Brown’s righteous anger off. He was half driven by a sense of responsibility, wanting to pay the auror back for his earlier help, but also just could not be bothered with a fight at that point in the evening.

 

“My apologies, sir,” the assistant gushed, his remorse still directed entirely at Marvin, snubbing Brown still further. “I’ll go check up on the tailors’ progress.”

 

“Over here, Brown,” Marvin directed, dread coursing through him as he showed him to the Feldman family’s reserved seating. He’d have to sit with the beautiful, obnoxious man until the tailors were ready for them, which was a far from welcome prospect. The joy of small talk was hardly his favourite activity. “My family has four seats here, so there’s plenty of room.”

 

Though Marvin had hoped that, out of the four seats, Brown would sit with two seats between them, such a wish was not to be granted. In a slouch which would have given Marvin’s old etiquette teacher a heart attack, Brown slumped down right next to him.

 

“So, reserved seats? Very fancy,” he remarked with more than a subtle touch of sarcasm. “God, this place is stuck up.”

 

“Why are you even here?” Marvin responded, sounding ruder than he’d really intended to but making no move to correct himself.

 

Brown just laughed.

 

“Malkins has a line out the door,” he explained. “All the parents who’ve just sent their hellspawn off to Hogwarts are doing some celebratory shopping now that they don’t need babysitters.”

 

“Oh,” Marvin said noncommittally, trying not to incite conversation, but to no avail.

 

“Besides, I need something fancier for the Ball and ‘cause everyone is flocking to Malkin’s they’re running out of the good fabrics down there,” he elaborated, pushing his hair back from his handsome face. Not that Marvin cared how good-looking he was, not in the slightest. “Oh, don’t look at me like that- is my flamboyance ruffling your feathers, Mr Straight Guy?” he queried, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Wh-what?”

 

Marvin wasn’t used to such blatancy. Upper class society was all polite smiles and hidden daggers, whereas Brown was brash and unapologetic, with the all the subtlety of a neon yellow bikini at a funeral. How he’d survived in Slytherin, Marvin had no idea, especially as he was a half-blood to boot.

 

“Not that, then?” Brown pouted. “You’d think I’d be better at reading people in my line of work. What is it, then? Don’t you think I can afford this place?”

 

It was as good an excuse as any as to why Marvin was looking at him oddly, and it sounded far less suspicious than “I was staring at you because you look like a model, but I’m not attracted to you, I swear,” so he just nodded.

 

Brown huffed. “My father may have been a muggle, but he was a rich one who made his millions in real estate. Didn’t any of your pureblood lessons teach you not to judge a book by its cover?”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about your father’s passing,” Marvin said, politely sidestepping the question.

 

“I’m not,” Brown stated bluntly. “He was a homophobic twat who died before he could write me out of his will.”

 

“Oh,” Marvin intoned eloquently.

 

“So, moving on, enough about me, what about you, are you in a relationship?” Brown asked, with a smile far more pleasant than his usual.

 

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

 

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Brown enquired, holding his serious expression for a few seconds before bursting into loud laughter at the look of horrified shock on Marvin’s usually schooled features. “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

 

“I have a beautiful wife and a great son,” Marvin told him with very little emotion. “I’m very happy,” he elaborated with, perhaps, even less.

 

“Wow, sounds like it,” Brown laughed.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Marvin demanded, standing up angrily.

 

“Oh chill your boots, babe. It just sounds rehearsed, is all,” Brown retorted, raising his hands defensively. Marvin found his eyes straying to them, drinking in the sight.

 

Shaking his head to rid it of the confusing train of thought, he was about to sit down when the sales assistant rushed back into the room.

 

“All good to go, sir!” he enthused, smiling smarmily at Marvin. Even though Brown had been at the shop for longer, it was to Marvin that he said “Your turn now, if you’ll just follow me; the tailors are ready and waiting.”

 

“Let Auror Brown go first, he’s next in line,” Marvin countered.

 

A pause and a haughty sniff followed before the assistant begrudgingly turned to Brown instead. “Fine.”

 

“Come with, Marvin!” Brown encouraged. “I can help you with the style you obviously desperately lack in return for the fancy seating.”

 

Marvin sighed, but acquiesced, making to push himself up out of the chair. Before he could, however, Brown was pulling him up. His hand was warm, the callouses rough against Marvin’s soft skin. He found he rather liked the feeling.

 

Following the assistant, both men entered a large room with walls covered in samples of expensive fabrics and sketches of robes. Brown looked quite excited about it, but Marvin had seen it all before. This was far from his first visit to Twilfit and Tattings, though he was usually with Trina when doing so. If given the choice, he would quite honestly rather be shopping with Brown; as irritating as he found the man, he was still more welcome company. Whether or not such thoughts made him a bad person was something he’d ignore.

 

At first, the two were served separately, giving Marvin the false hope that he might be able to shop free of interference. But when he nodded absentmindedly at one in a long line of multiple plain fabrics, Brown stepped in.

 

“It’s amazing that, despite being heir to a fortune, you still manage to dress like you’ve five knuts to your name. You truly astound me, Feldman,” he jibed. For some reason, Marvin disliked that Brown had called him ‘Feldman’ more than the insult itself.

 

“Well, Brown, what would you recommend to save me from my ‘fashion curse’?” he snipped, tone somewhere between real annoyance and joking. He wasn’t sure himself which of the two he related to more.

 

“Well, Marvin,” He let out a relieved breath that the first name was back, not that he cared. “If we’re close enough to share clothing tips, I think we’re close enough for you to call me Whizzer. Or is it too much of an ‘informality’?” Brown asked, his stupidly handsome smile at full brightness.

 

‘Yes’ he wanted to say, ‘that _is_ too informal’. Marvin didn’t want to be Brown’s friend. But if he could stop Trina turning up her nose at his clothing whilst pursing her face like she’d just frenched a lemon, then perhaps it would be worth it.

 

“Okay then… _Whizzer_ , what would you recommend?” He gave in, letting him win. Calling him Whizzer was no huge sacrifice in the grand scheme of things, he supposed.

 

“Well, getting rid of _this_ would be an immediate improvement,” he replied, gesturing to all of the fabric choices he’d made so far, and then to the clothes Marvin was actually wearing. “And before you run away, no, I did not mean that you should be naked, just that your current clothes are hideous. Although,” He let his eyes run over Marvin from head to toe, making him shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “The first option isn’t all that bad either.”

 

Marvin’s mouth went dry. Nervously, he wet his lips. “So, my clothes for the ball.”

 

Whizzer pouted. “Oh fine, you’re no fun. Well, this style will suit you,” he gestured to a design tacked to the wall nearby. It depicted a pair of open fronted black robes in a simple, yet elegant, cut. “And underneath, just smart black dress trousers and a white shirt. I assume you have something along those lines already, so I won’t go into too much detail there.” He turned to the nearest tailor, who looked a little affronted at being addressed by him, but complied nonetheless when he instructed “Have these robes made up with the silver trim, rather than that horrible gold disaster in the sketch, and we’ll be all good for him.”

 

While that tailor bustled away, presumably to craft the robes in the next room, the female of the pair reluctantly moved forward to help Whizzer with his own choice in robes. His ideas for himself were a lot more complex than for Marvin’s, debating everything from the shade of silver the buttons would be to the type of thread used to stitch the suit beneath the robes. Eventually, tailor number two hurried off to create Whizzer’s vision. His clear and detailed knowledge of fashion had made the uptight woman warm slightly to him despite his lack of ‘proper breeding’.

 

As everything and at Twilfit and Tattings was charmed to resize to the physique of its first  wearer, Marvin had no need to try his new outfit on before leaving.

 

“The other gentleman’s outfit will be a while longer,” the tailor told him as he handed over the packaged clothes. “Maureen had a far more extensive task than I.”

 

“Thank you,” Marvin replied, before turning to Whizzer. “I guess I’ll be off now,” he said awkwardly, holding out a hand for him to shake. “I much appreciated your help with this.”

 

“No problem- it was my _pleasure_ ,” Whizzer drew out the last word for longer than was perhaps necessary. Then, instead of taking Marvin’s hand as he had offered, he pulled him into a hug. Marvin wasn’t sure how to react; hugs were uncomfortable ordeals reserved for relatives at tedious Christmas parties. They weren’t for beautiful near-strangers, and they certainly weren’t meant to feel so nice. He stiffened, confusion clouding his mind, and Whizzer let him go.

 

“Sorry, should have figured you weren’t the hugging type. I always hug my friends goodbye so it was mostly instinctual,” he apologised, his eyes showing that he wasn’t sorry at all, but rather amused by Marvin’s reaction.

 

“Well, I suppose it’s good that we aren’t friends, then, isn’t it?” Marvin said by way of a parting remark as he strode away, out of the shop and as far away from Whizzer as he could be.

 

\-----------------------

 

“Welcome home, master!” Mipsy, his house elf, excitedly greeted him as soon as he walked through the front door, effectively ruining any chance he may have had at sneaking in quietly.

 

“Thank you, Mipsy,” Marvin replied, cringing as he saw Trina walk into the hallway, glare at full force. _Shit._ He’d forgotten to owl her about him going shopping, making him two hours late from work with no prior warning.

 

“What the hell, Marvin?” she yelled, striding over to him and putting her hands on her hips. “I was worried sick about you, you bastard! Why I even care, I have no idea, seeing as you didn’t bother to tell me where you were.”

 

“Calm down, darling. I was at Twilfits, I just forgot to owl you. It wasn’t like I was gone the night,” he tried to placate her. Apparently he had failed, however, as her glare only intensified. He hadn’t thought that that was possible.

 

“Calm down? _Calm down?!_ Don’t you _dare_ tell me to calm down right now, you insensitive son of a- Jason!” she cut off abruptly as the door to the hallway opened.

 

“You actually got that the wrong way around, Trina,” he couldn’t resist adding before turning to smile at his son, who had just come into the hall. The fact that his appearance had stopped Trina yelling at him for the time being only made him even more of a welcome sight. “Shall we go back into the dining room?”

 

“Sure!” Jason replied, scampering back into the room he’d just emerged from.

 

“Your food is on the table under a stasis charm, _dear,_ ” Trina spat as they followed their son. It was indeed, and he hurried to sit down in front of it. Until then, he hadn’t realised just how hungry he’d become since his lunch break, his mind otherwise occupied by work, shopping and... Whizzer.

 

At the other end of the table, Jason was deeply invested in a game of Wizarding chess, which he was playing solo.

 

“Knight to D5,” he ordered decisively.

 

“Are you sure about that? I’ll get killed by the bishop for sure,” the black knight replied nervously.

 

“Yes, now move!” he repeated, and the knight dutifully moved to its appropriate place as Jason spun the board around so he was playing as white. “Bishop to D5.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” the black knight exclaimed as it was smashed to the floor of the board. “I _told_ you this would happen,”

 

Jason switched back to playing as black. “Sometimes sacrifices need to be made. Queen to D5,” he ordered, and, after said piece did as he told it to, “Checkmate.”

 

“Well done, sweetie,” Trina praised dutifully, hugging him. She’d never understood Jason’s love of chess, and often complained to Marvin once their son had gone to sleep about how much the child spent on the game. “Shall we talk to your father now about your idea?”

 

“Idea?” Marvin was intrigued.

 

“Jason has been getting incredibly bored at my society functions and would rather be doing something that he deems ‘worth his while’,” she elaborated.

 

“Go on…”

 

“I want to go to school!” Jason blurted out animatedly. “I’ve literally read all the books in our family library, Father- I need to learn more.”

 

“Jason, Hogwarts doesn’t start until you’re eleven, and you’re only eight. You can’t go early,” Marvin reminded him apologetically.

 

“Not _Hogwarts_ ,” Jason corrected him, as if he’d been an idiot to suggest such a thing. “I want to go to the local muggle primary school- going to one is practically like learning OWL level content for muggle studies. I could probably take the exam in first year!”

 

With his son’s excitement about potentially taking an exam five years early, Marvin had no doubt at all as to which house he’d end up in.

 

“Do you think you that you can keep from mentioning it to your grandparents? They’d kill me on the spot if they heard I’d let you do such a thing,” he asked, only half joking about the second part.

 

“Absolutely, father! My lips are sealed,” Jason earnestly mimed zipping his mouth closed.

 

“And what about your etiquette lessons on Wednesdays and Fridays?”

 

“Master Finmoore says that I don’t really need them anymore, but mother says I can have a fortnightly refresher session every other Saturday,” Jason explained. He was clearly very serious about going to muggle school, and had accounted for pretty much everything. Marvin had to give the kid credit. Adding that to the look Trina was giving him, threatening dismemberment if he didn’t comply, he really had no choice.

 

“Fine, you can go!” he relented, glad he did so when Jason’s rare smile lit up the room.

 

“Excellent- Jason and I will be going to look around Springwood Primary tomorrow. I’ve arranged for us to be given a tour, then Jason will get to talk to the teacher for his year to make sure that they get on,” Trina informed him, looking slightly less pissed off than she had been for the last twenty minutes.

 

“It’s already arranged? I suppose I had no say at all in this from the get go,” Marvin remarked.

 

“None at all, dear,” Trina confirmed, smiling sweetly as she cleared away his dinner plate. Given that she was holding a steak knife, he dared not question further. Even when Mipsy popped in and took the plate and cutlery from his wife, he still remained quiet. Trina didn’t need a weapon to terrify him.

 

With that, Marvin picked up the briefcase that he’d set down next to his chair at the dinner table, politely excused himself and walked away, headed to his upstairs study. Without him even asking, Mipsy appeared with a glass tumbler of firewhiskey, setting it down upon his desk.

 

“Can Mipsy fetch anything else for Master?” she enquired in her squeaky little voice.

 

“That’ll be all, thank you, Mipsy,” he told her. A crack sounded through the room as she vanished, presumably to carry on tidying up the kitchen before she went to sleep in her room in the attic. Some house owners only allowed their elves to curl up in a cupboard under the sink, or somewhere equally damp and revolting. The Feldman family, for all their faults, had never mistreated their staff.

 

He took a large gulp of his firewhiskey, relishing the burn in his throat as it went down. His evening had been one riddled with confusion, and he wished he could just make his conflicting emotions go away. Sadly, that was not to be. Instead of dampening his muddle of thoughts, the alcohol amplified his doubts, bringing them inescapably to the forefront of his mind.

 

Before he’d snapped back to serious mode and stormed away, Marvin had actually had _fun_ at the tailors. Coming from a man who never had any fun at all, that was quite something. Auror Brown, or _Whizzer_ as he so often insisted he be called, had managed to make him forget for a wonderful while how much he hated his life. And hate it he did.

 

But what did that mean?

 

Even at Hogwarts, Marvin had never relaxed with a peer as he had with Whizzer. He’d forced himself to hang out with fellow Slytherins in his year at mealtimes and in between classes to muster ‘important social connections’ at the insistence of his parents, and never really had anyone who he’d truthfully consider a friend. He was remarkably liberally minded for someone who came from an old family, though he’d never voiced it at school for fear of being ostracized within his house, and was thus usually uncomfortable in the presence of his housemates. Those who didn't subscribe to pureblood ideals were on his parent’s list of people he was never to talk to. That must be it, then; he was so starved of casual interaction with people who weren't inbred bigots or his immediate family, that he’d jumped at the chance to talk with Whizzer, as much as he complained along the way.

 

Whizzer Brown was astoundingly handsome, a fact which Marvin noted more than one could consider normal. A man could admire another’s appearance without it being anything wholly unnatural, however. In fact, it was probably just him projecting how he wished that he himself were young and carefree like Whizzer. The racing in his heart when the other man drew closer, that was just the thrill of ignoring his cemented place in wizarding society. It was all new and exciting, but purely platonic.

 

How could it be anything but? He was a Feldman, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to leave a comment, they're incredibly motivating and I'd love to hear what you think! -Erin


	2. The Non Auror Task Force

**Chapter Two - The Non Auror Task Force**

 

While Marvin lay in bed next to his wife, wide awake and staring at his ceiling, Whizzer was walking into his favourite bar, a muggle one on the outskirts of London called ‘Firezone’. It didn’t have the best name in the world, but it had some of the best drinks he’d ever had, so he kept coming back. Although many people in it were still judgemental assholes, the muggle world was still more progressive than wizarding Britain. They’d moved on from archaic laws and marriage contracts. 

 

He hadn’t been all that pleased to be saddled with Marvin Feldman at Twilfits, but had decided to make the most of it. It was always amusing to tease straight men and, according to his fellow aurors, Feldman was as straight as they got.

 

But was he really? Whizzer was not so sure.

He’d thought that he must’ve been imagining things when Feldman shivered in his arms after falling straight into them from the fireplace. Perhaps it was colder than he realised, he had reasoned with himself. But similarly suspicious things kept happening for the whole hour or so that they were together. When he pulled him up from the chair, he’d held onto his hand for slightly too long. Furthermore, when Whizzer had pushed back his hair, a signature flirting trick of his which nearly always drew all eyes to him, the other man’s breath had audibly caught in his throat. As far as Whizzer could tell, Feldman was at the very least curious, and he very much doubted that the attraction stopped there. 

 

When he’d finally managed to get Marvin to call him by his first name, Whizzer found he rather liked the way it sounded coming from the high-class pureblood. He wondered how it’d sound as a breathy gasp, and endeavoured to find out. As the best in his class, Whizzer was somewhat coasting in his training and didn’t have much to do in his free time except frequent bars. This could be somewhat of a game to him, he was bored and it’d be quite the achievement to seduce a guy some would argue was ‘the most painfully straight man in all of the Ministry of Magic’. Until actually talking to him, discounting his frequent joking catcalls in the cafeteria, Whizzer had been taken in by everyone else’s opinions on the man, assuming that he was 100% straight, but after doing so, he wasn’t quite so sure. 

 

Perhaps Feldman had a contract. It’d certainly explain why he sounded anything from happy when talking about his home life. Whizzer’s mother had been supposed to marry someone in Pureblood society, as she herself was of ‘pure descent’, but then she got knocked up by a muggle and she was disowned for terminating the contract’s requirements. Said muggle was Whizzer’s father, who for all his faults had at least not abandoned Marie when she needed him. If Marvin was, indeed, closeted as Whizzer was beginning to expect, he understood exactly what he would have given up had he not married his wife and dutifully produced an heir as his parents had commanded. 

 

He was jolted out of his musings when the guy who’d been eying him from across the bar from the past half hour finally made a move and approached him.

 

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” the tall, bearded man asked, a sleazy smile on his face. Not the most original pick up line in the world, but he was hot as hell so Whizzer didn’t really care. Plus, free drinks were always a bonus.

 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Whizzer replied, looking up at him. “You can even buy me more than one, if you want.”

 

The man slid onto the bar stool next to Whizzer, one large hand sliding up his thigh. 

 

\-----------------------

 

The next morning, after Marvin had kissed her on the cheek hastily and then run off to work, Trina was getting ready to take Jason to his tour of Springwood Primary. She was actually quite excited about it, as it was a change from the morning tea parties she attended most weekdays. 

 

_ “ _ _ Undulatis capillus!” _ she said firmly, waving her wand in a spiral motion in the direction of her hair. It shimmered slightly, and then fell into gentle waves. A few more simple charms later, and . her makeup was all done, asides from her lipstick. That, she did the muggle way. As one of her roommates at Hogwarts had taught her, no spell yet crafted could recreate the perfect shade of lipstick.

 

“Mother, are you ready?” Jason called from the table, where he hadn’t even looked up from his game of chess to ask her. 

 

“Yes, darling, so we should really be getting away,” she told him. He leapt up to join her as she walked out of the room, but not before carefully placing his chessboard on the bedside table. “Okay, Jason. We’re going to apparate to the alley outside of the school today, but in future we may need to take a car in case people start getting suspicious about how we’re getting there.

 

“Couldn’t we just confund them?” Jason enquired, completely serious.

 

“No, honey. We aren’t allowed to do that to muggles unless it’s strictly necessary, it’s immoral,” Trina explained patiently.

 

“Morals are so boring, mother,” he complained. “Father says it’s okay as long as you don’t get caught and it isn’t anything damaging.”

 

“Did he, now? Well, your father and I will be having a little talk about his life lessons later. Meanwhile, make sure to run anything by me in future before you take it to heart. Sometimes your father can be wrong,” she said, inwardly cursing her husband. The stupid,  _ stupid  _ man. “Hold onto my hand now, honey.”

 

Sharply, she spun on the spot and apparated with a crack, both of them reappearing next to some wheelie bins in the secluded alley next to the school. Trina wrinkled her nose daintily at the rather unpleasant smell emanating from the nearest bin, in which she swore she could hear something crawling around inside. Still holding onto her son’s hand, she power-walked out of the alley as fast as she could and they headed towards the school’s front doors.

 

After they both signed in, a child suddenly stood up from where she’d been sitting on a chair in the reception. Trina had assumed that she was waiting to be taken home sick or something along those lines but, as the girl enthusiastically told them, she was to be their tour guide.

 

“Hi, I’m Lena, I’m eleven and I’m in Year Six!” she informed them for some reason. “I’ll be showing you around the school today before you meet with the Year Four teacher. He’s really really nice, I’m sure you’ll love him.”

 

Though Lena did, to her credit, point out such landmarks around the school and its grounds such as the lunchroom, the playground and the girls toilets, most of their walk with her was taken up with her over enthusiastically sharing every detail about her life in a rather high pitched voice. Trina could only hope that the rather irritating child didn’t scare Jason off the school altogether. 

 

“And that’s why I was elected Junior Miss Bravo Ballet!” Lena finished off as they reached a classroom labelled ‘Rose Class’ and, in smaller print, ‘Dr Mendel Weisenbachfeld’. “This is the Year Four classroom! All the classes from reception to Year Four are named after flowers, by the way.” 

 

She had already told them three times.

 

“Thank you, sweetie, I think we have it from here,” Trina told her, feeling as if her head would explode if she had to listen to Lena for one more minute. “Thank you so much for your help.”

 

“Well, that’s perfectly timed. Break actually starts in two minutes so I’m going to get a head start on the tuck shop line- today is bacon buttie day!” she told them exuberantly, running off away down the corridor towards the lunchroom.

 

True to Lena’s word, two minutes later the bell rang and children started pouring out of the classroom as if it’d sprung a leak. All that was left behind was a man, presumably the teacher, who had his back to them as they entered the room. He was reorganising some books on the shelf above his desk and didn’t notice they were even there until Trina delicately coughed to get his attention. Jumping as if a gunshot had been fired, he dropped three large books on the floor, scrambling to pick them up.

 

“Hi, sorry, just one second,” he greeted them as he put the books in their respective places. Once he was done, he continued. “Okay, so you must be Jason Feldman,” he gestured to Jason, “And you, I presume, are his lovely mother?”

 

“You presume correctly, Doctor,” Trina confirmed with a small smile, feeling her face heat up. This man, her son’s soon-to-be teacher if all went well, was quite possibly the most attractive man she had ever seen. Part of her thought she should really be thinking that about her husband, but he’d been such an incorrigible twit as of late that she didn’t feel all that guilty. “Do you have a few minutes to talk with my son?”

 

“Why, of course. Jason, I assume that you’re interested in transferring to Springwood. Was your last school not working for you or have you guys just moved to the area?” he enquired. Trina watched the movement of his mouth as he spoke and sighed softly. Why did she have to be married?

 

“No to both, actually, Doctor Weisenbachfeld” Jason replied. “I’ve lived here all my life, but I’ve been home schooled by a combination of my mother and a paid tutor until now.”

 

“You’re remarkably well spoken for an eight year old, Jason,” Dr Mendel marveled. “Also, please feel free to call me Dr. Mendel, all my students do as my last name is a bit of a mouthful.”

 

“I read a lot,” was all Jason gave as an explanation for his advanced speech. His eyes suddenly lit up; he had clearly just spotted the ornately carved chess set sitting on the shelf with the books Dr Mendel had recently tidied up. “You play chess?!”

 

“Oh, that? Yes, I’ve played since I was a small boy. I actually won an under 18s championship back in the day, and I’ve played in local competitions ever since. Do you like the game?” Dr Mendel replied with a smile, having found something to bond with this prospective student over.

 

“Chess is the best invention to ever emerge from this otherwise worthless age of man,” Jason said, entirely seriously. 

 

Trina winced; her son was going all ‘crazy chess maniac’ on his potential teacher. Surprisingly enough, however, Dr Mendel didn’t run to the hills, but instead grinned at Jason’s enthusiasm. 

 

“If you put even half as much effort into class as you obviously put into chess, I can see you becoming one of my star students, Jason,” Dr Mendel told the child encouragingly. “Do you think you’d like being taught by me?”

 

A tense pause followed as Jason appraised him silently, not blinking in the time it took him to do so. And then, “I suppose I’m open to the idea,” he admitted. “You’re far more interesting already than my private tutor.”

 

“I won’t tell Master Finmoore that, you might hurt his feelings!” Trina joked after letting out the breath she’d been holding while Jason made up his mind. Him being at school was going to make her life so much easier, as she spent half her time at the social functions worrying that Jason’s boredness would make him act out with accidental magic as he often did. Lady Marissa Everington’s hat was never quite the same after the boy had turned it into a live turkey. 

 

“Well, it has been an absolute pleasure to meet you both,” Dr Mendel told them both, beaming. “I cannot wait to see you in my class soon, Jason.”

 

“Goodbye, Dr Mendel, it was lovely to make your acquaintance,” Jason replied formally.

 

“I’ll be seeing you soon as well when I drop off Jason, I imagine,” Trina added, smiling sweetly at him. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to us.”

 

“Believe me,” Dr Mendel answered. “The pleasure was all mine.”

 

\-----------------------

 

“Whizzer, wake up!” a female voice was calling to him. 

 

He shook his hair like a wet dog, trying and failing to rid his mind of its pounding headache. All he could remember from the night before was going home with someone from that muggle bar, and now he could hear a  _ woman _ calling his name? What on earth had happened?

 

“Whizzer, you get your lazy ass off my cushions and take a shower. You smell fucking awful,” a different woman said, far louder than the other. It was then that he realised where he must be, and opened his eyes with a wince at the sunlight streaming through Cordelia and Charlotte’s apartment window. 

 

“Wh-wha?” he mumbled intelligently, looking up at where his two closest friends stood in front of the sofa. “How did I even get here?”

 

“Well, I don’t know the full story as I was on the night shift at 3AM when you turned up at our flat, so maybe my girlfriend can fill you in,” Charlotte replied, still looking peeved.

 

“Well, honey, you showed up in the early hours incredibly drunk and complaining that you couldn’t find your key, so I put you on the sofa after you puked your guts out all over our living room floor. Thankfully, I was able to scourgify it before it stained. You then said, and I quote, ‘that guy was so ugly I’m glad I didn’t go home with him’ and then passed out,” Cordelia explained. 

 

Whizzer groaned. “Oh wow, drunk me is brutally honest.”

 

“You also said that the sofa cushions were ugly,” Cordelia interjected with a devilish smile, Charlotte immediately glaring at their friend.

 

“He said  _ WHAT?!”  _ she yelled angrily. 

 

“On second thoughts,” Whizzer hastily amended, “Drunk me is just a big ol’ liar.”

 

“That’s what I thought. Now, shower!” Charlotte ordered, and he stood up to do so.

 

“What time even is it?” he asked.

 

“Eleven,” Cordelia replied. His eyes widened. 

 

“ _ Shit _ , I’m in work at twelve. I’m so lucky it's only a half day today because Potter’s off sick and can’t do our weapons training.”

 

“Yes, but you’ve still got a busy day ahead of you,” Cordelia pointed out.

 

“I do?” he asked, confused.

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it’s assessments in the afternoon today, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday?” Charlotte reminded him incredulously.

 

“Oh fuck, please tell me you have a hangover potion?”

 

“I’ve half a mind to not give it to you for insulting my cushions, but yes, we do,” Charlotte relented. “Now, do I really have to tell you for a third time to get your smelly arse to the shower?”

 

“No, no!” he replied, running away to go do as she said. 

 

Twenty minutes later he emerged, considerably less pungent and hair a mess over his forehead. Cordelia handed him the hangover potion and he downed the unpleasant tasting concoction in one, feeling the effects instantly as his head stopped pounding and the daylight stopped feeling like lasers attacking his retinas. 

 

“Do you have time for breakfast?” Cordelia inquired eagerly as she emerged from the kitchen.

 

“What’s on offer?” he asked, somewhat wary but trying to hide his apprehension. Cordelia was the best baker he’d ever been fortunate enough to meet, but her other cooking was usually inedible at best. 

 

“I made scrambled eggs!” she told him proudly, and his stomach turned at the thought. The last time she’d made those, they had somehow been brown and runny.

 

“You know what, I gotta run to work; maybe next time my love,” Whizzer replied, dashing forward to hug her and kiss her cheek, doing the same to Charlotte before making a beeline towards their floo. 

 

\-----------------------

 

Marvin usually enjoyed the annual assessment every employee had to undergo each year; it was an escape from his usual job and he got to do actual magic rather than sitting behind a desk. Ever since the Second Wizarding War and its climatic finish, Minister Shacklebolt had quite rightly determined that the Ministry needed to be able to defend itself from outside forces. Obviously, they couldn’t expect all the workers to be international duelling champions, but basic defensive skills within the Ministry were seriously lacking during the wartime period, which had made it all the more easy for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to infiltrate it. 

 

Now, it was a non-negotiable requirement that to be Minister or to be a part of their circle of advisory staff, you had to be able to completely throw off the Imperious curse with ease. The same applied to being a departmental head, a challenge which Marvin had managed to overcome two years ago with tutelage from an unspeakable. For all employees, not just the heads of departments, there was a yearly assessment to judge how useful they would be if the ministry came under siege again. Four afternoons a year, the four-hundred strong auror department would be assigned to individually test their fellow ministry personnel. If the worker lasted more than a minute against the trained auror, they passed. If not, they’d have to undergo further training over the following weeks until they were able to do so. It didn’t sound like a long time, but the aurors truly were the best of the best; most didn’t pass the test first time each year. Marvin had every time and was determined to keep up his streak. 

 

His parents were always incredibly strict that he attend his tri-weekly duelling sessions during the school holidays (before he’d gone to Hogwarts they had been every week day since age seven) and thus he was an incredibly competent dueller. In his later years at Hogwarts, his duelling prowess had come in useful when his housemates tried to intimidate him into taking the dark mark. The Feldmans, though blood purists to their very core, were fiercely proud and refused to bow before a ‘master’. In Marvin’s seventh year, he had to be homeschooled and couldn’t take his NEWTs until after the war had finished, as his family had gone into hiding under the Fidelius charm. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been most displeased when they had repeatedly refused to join him, and had instructed the Death Eaters in Marvin’s year to make an example of him to send a gruesome message to his parents. Thankfully the buffoons had attempted to kill him on a Hogsmeade weekend so he had managed to fend the six boys off long enough to apparate away. 

 

_ Marvin was understandably confused when two of his yearmates insisted that they needed to talk to him at the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, but had stupidly agreed to walk off with them to the area by the fenced-off grounds of the Shrieking Shack. He hadn’t been too intimidated, as it was only Terence Higgs and Felix  _ _ Urquhart and he knew that even both of them together couldn’t take him in a fight. However, when they arrived, four more of his peers emerged from the trees nearby. It was then that the alarm bells began to ring in Marvin’s mind. He started trying to walk away, but within seconds his housemates had him surrounded, circling him like an ugly, inbred pack of wolves. Even in his state of rapidly increasing panic, he still thanked his lucky stars that his heritage, though pure, didn’t involve the marrying of blood relatives. Ternicius Vaisey’s parents were first cousins, and his wide spaced eyes and large puffy lips made him look rather like a goldfish. _

 

_ “This is your last chance to do the right thing and agree to take our master’s Mark,” Warrington threatened, pushing Marvin roughly with one of his big, beefy hands. He fell down onto the damp ground, getting covered in mud and yet still managing to look more dignified than them all.  _

 

_ “You and I both know that isn’t going to happen, Gordon,” Marvin spat back at him defiantly.  _

 

_ “Crucio!” growled Pollux Fendall, his intent enough that the curse came out strong, but his aim so poor that Marvin barely had to move to avoid it as he leapt back up from the ground. _

 

_ He knew he shouldn’t goad the six boys surrounding him but he really couldn’t help it. Marvin was too arrogant for his own good. “That all you have for me, Fendall? My seven-year-old cousin could cast a spell more accurately.” _

 

_ Vaisey resulted to brute force, something a Protego couldn’t protect Marvin from as his nose shattered under the other boy’s fist. Blood flowed profusely down his face as he swayed slightly on the spot, blinking back tears of pain.  _

 

_ “Crucio!” Fendall repeated, hitting Marvin even as he tried to dive out of the way and eliciting a guttural scream of agony. Luckily, even though he was able to cast the spell, he didn’t have the magical power to hold it for very long. _

 

_ “Stupefy maxima!” Marvin yelled in a broken voice once the Crucio lifted, effectively knocking out Vaisey for at least twenty-four hours. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fendall wave his wand, casting a silent spell. This time, his aim was true and Marvin’s hasty “Protego!” was only just enough to save him from what he suspected was the entrail-expelling curse. It hit him then that they weren’t just trying to hurt him to make him bow to the Dark Lord’s will. Clearly, the powerful wizard had given up on trying to convert him and had ordered his death. “Magno Capitis,” he retaliated, watching as Fendall fell to the ground clutching his head in his hands. While he was incapacitated, Marvin rendered him unconscious with another stunner. _

 

_ The four left paused momentarily. Fendall had been their leader of sorts, the most magically gifted of the six seventh years by a long stretch, and him being out of commission had clearly not been planned for. Taking advantage of their confused pause from attacking him, Marvin spun on the spot and disapparated, appearing outside his childhood home. _

 

_ Mrs Feldman was sitting outside, and was suitably shocked when her son appeared, muddied, bloody and with a wild look in his eyes. “Marvin?! What on earth has happened to you?” she exclaimed, running forward to him in an uncharacteristic deviance from her usually emotionless persona. _

 

_ “Dark Lord. Attack. We need to run,” Marvin choked out. His mother’s eyes widened even more, and she ran back to the house.  _

 

_ “Walter!” she screamed. “They’re coming for us!” _

 

After that, they had fled to a holiday home in France pre-equipped with the Fidelius charm, and had spent a year there before the Dark Lord’s defeat. Marvin was in the year above the Golden Trio at Hogwarts, but thanks to his year in hiding he’d had to take his NEWTs the same year as Granger, not that her name was still as such, the only one of the three who actually completed their examinations despite having offers for jobs in the Ministry. She’d beat him by one grade, achieving all Os in her seven subjects, whereas he’d only got an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. 

 

On the subject of the Golden Trio, he’d actually been tested by Weasley last year. While an interesting opportunity, he was only six seconds off the three minute mark meaning he would have qualified to train as a NATF member, and against most other aurors he suspected he would have made the cut. 

 

The NATF (Non Auror Task Force) were a group of workers in the ministry who could assist the aurors in the event of a siege, whereas other personnel were advised to run and hide from the assailants. Although they were only to be used if there were significantly reduced Auror numbers, i.e. if there was an attack during a large scale raid elsewhere, it was still a testament to his skill and Marvin was determined to qualify. He was an incredibly proud man, and at 30 he would be the youngest in the force. 

 

At that moment, he was sitting in the waiting area, doing some paperwork as his assigned appointment time, 2:35, was already long past, the clock ticking its way towards five to. He doubted he’d be seen any time soon. Just as he thought that, however, he was disrupted from his riveting work on the inter-department budgeting challenge as a tall, pot-bellied man called out “Marvin Feldman?”

 

“That’s me,” Marvin identified himself as he stood up, clearing the papers off his lap and into his briefcase with a wave of his wand. 

 

“If you’ll just go over to the wand assessment station, then they’ll send you right on to your assigned auror,” pot-bellied man instructed him. Marvin nodded politely and did as such, walking over to where a severe looking witch with prominently bushy eyebrows was waiting for him. He’d had this stage with her the previous few years, remembering her name to be Beatrice Marple. 

 

“Any changes since last year, Mr Feldman?” Marple enquired, holding out her hand for his wand. He handed it over, shaking his head.

 

“No, nothing new. Same as ever,” he confirmed. 

 

“If you could just state your wand’s specifications for the record, Mr Feldman.”

 

“Dragon heartstring core, English oak, thirteen inches,” he responded clearly. 

“Has there been any damage to your wand in the past twelve months?” she asked boredly, reading from a sheet of questions in front of her.

 

“No.”

 

“To your knowledge, is it in perfect working order?” 

 

“Yes, absolutely,” Marvin replied, smiling politely as she handed back his wand. 

 

“That’ll be all. As you’re a Head of Department, please proceed to the Imperius testing room at the end of the corridor,” she told him in a monotone.

 

Marvin thanked her and began the long walk down the corridor. He could hear the muffled sounds of his colleagues being tested in the many examination rooms he passed, making him slightly nervous about his own assessment. Not  _ that _ nervous, though. He was fully confident in his abilities. 

 

Knocking on the end door which was clearly marked ‘ _ IMPERIUS TESTING’ _ , he heard a voice inside instruct him to enter. He was pretty sure he knew from their accent who would be testing him.

 

“Ah, Feldman!” greeted Ronald Weasley. Marvin innerly sighed in relief, realising that this meant he wouldn’t have Weasley for the practical module again that year. 

 

“Weasley. Good to see you again,” Marvin greeted him genuinely, shaking the other man’s hand before placing his wand on a table nearby, which was a requirement for the test. Eyes closed, he waited for the onslaught.

 

“Imperio!” Weasley commanded. Marvin felt the calming sensation wash over his mind, but did not relax, as much as the feeling willed him to. And then, in his thoughts, he heard a whispered command.  _ “Jump onto the chair.” _

 

_ “No,”  _ Marvin refused the voice, restraining his legs from moving as they wanted to.  _ “I will not be controlled.” _

 

_ “Jump. Onto. The. Desk.” _

 

_ “NO!”  _ he yelled back mentally, forcibly pushing the voice out of his head. Weasley stumbled slightly on the spot.

 

“You’re good, Feldman,” he praised. “I think we can safely say that you’ve passed the imperius portion of the assessment. Not that I’d expect anything less from you, mate.”

 

Marvin held back a wince at the informality Weasley showed to a man he barely knew. Although he should hardly be surprised; the redhead of the infamous ‘Golden Trio’ was hardly renowned for his subtle graces.

 

“How’s the wife and kid then, Feldman? I hear your son makes quite the impression on high society.”

 

“Oh, Jason just gets bored, is all,” Marvin explained, a little confused by Weasley’s sudden interest in his personal life. “He’s going to be doing more lessons with his tutors at home instead of attending Trina’s social functions from now on.”

 

“Ah, don’t look so ashamed of him, mate. He’s a growing lad and the worse I’ve heard he’s done was turn some woman’s hat into a turkey. Hardly so bad as inflating your aunt in third year like Harry did,” Weasley reasoned. 

 

“Yes, yes, that is very tr-”

 

He didn’t hear the command the second time, meaning that Weasley had learnt the curse non-verbally, but the feeling was just the same.

 

_ “Sit on the floor,”  _ he was commanded, and he fought his legs as they tried to buckle beneath him.

 

_ “Get out of my head, Weasley,” _ he retorted in his mind, pushing back at the unwelcome intrusion into his consciousness, shoving Weasley out. 

 

“Nice one, Feldman. A lot of people failed the sneak attack,” Weasley congratulated him. “My wife suggested that we test how people react to an unexpected strike from the curse, as that’s how it’d be in real life.”

 

“She makes an excellent point,” Marvin admitted. “Is that actually all, this time?”

 

“Yes, you can get your wand back now,” Weasley confirmed. “You’re off for testing in room…” he paused, looking down at a sheet, “Room sixty. Enjoy the practical, hope you qualify this time.”

 

“Well I’m not against you, so I just might!” Marvin joked, turning to walk away.

 

“Your examiner is the best of our newly qualified lot, even beat me in a duel a few times; I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself,” Weasley warned, laughing as the door closed behind Marvin.

 

Not exactly a reassuring statement, but Marvin was still utterly set on making the three minute mark so that he could train for the NATF. 

 

Room 60 was only a few doors down, and Marvin waited outside, hearing that someone else’s examination was still happening inside. After a matter of mere seconds, however, a mousy haired woman stormed out, slamming the door behind her and power walking away. Clearly  _ someone  _ hadn’t passed her assessment. 

 

Marvin waited a moment, then rapped his knuckles three times against the wooden door.

 

“Come in!” a male voice instructed, an  _ all too familiar _ male voice. Marvin’s heart sank with dread, ending up somewhere around his toes. He recognised that voice and, as much as he wished his suspicions were wrong, they were confirmed as he turned the handle and entered the testing room.

 

“Marvin,” Whizzer Brown greeted him with a wide smile. “How absolutely lovely to see you!”


	3. Assessments

**Chapter Three - The Duel**

 

Of all the people he could possibly have been partnered with for this assessment, out of an auror force at least four-hundred strong, Marvin had still managed to be partnered with  _ Whizzer _ . At this point, he’d have been less annoyed with the news that he had to face Harry Bloody Potter than Auror Brown. Sure, he’d be knocked out of the fight in seconds without a hope of qualifying for the NATF, but at least Potter didn’t infuriate him in the unique way that Brown always seemed to. 

 

“Brown,” Marvin greeted him curtly. “A pleasure as always,” he lied, not an ounce of sincerity in his tone. 

 

“Oh Marvin, surely you can fake  _ excitement _ a little better than that,” Whizzer chided him. “In fact, you must be quite the expert at ‘faking it’ after all these years; you do have a son, after all.”

 

Marvin tensed up, glowering at the other man. “What’s that supposed to mean,  _ Whizzer _ _?”_   he demanded, but Brown only smirked in response, offering him no explanation for the confusing taunts.

 

“So, hoping to qualify for the NATF this year, are we?” Whizzer asked, still smiling at Marvin in a way that unnerved him, as he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

 

“I, um, yes,” Marvin replied in an uncharacteristic jumbling of words, his mouth dry. Unrelated to his distracted state of mind, Whizzer was stretching in what Marvin assumed was preparation for their fight. His arms stretched up so high that a sliver of his toned stomach was visible, not that Marvin was looking, not that he would even care to look. Somehow, however, Whizzer seemed to catch him looking, which was odd seeing as he  _ wasn’t _ , the other man smiling knowingly in his infuriating way. It was if Whizzer knew something about him that even he himself wasn’t privy to, which was quite the disconcerting feeling.

 

“Ready, then?” Brown asked smugly. “Or would you rather I stretch a bit more for you?” 

 

The double meaning that the Auror seemed to be trying to imply was lost on him.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Oh, I think you know.”

 

“I really don’t,” Marvin protested.

 

“If you insist,” Whizzer acquiesced, not sounding as if he believed him in the slightest. “Well, anyway, onwards!”

 

‘“To what?” Marvin, asked, still distracted, before he realised. “Oh, right, test, yes.”

 

“Where on earth is your mind right now, Marvin?” Whizzer teased, that being annoying enough to snap him out of his odd headspace.

 

“Nowhere! I’m completely in the present, thank you very much,” Marvin snapped, taking a step backward when he realised how close Brown had drawn to him while they’d been talking.

 

“Very well,” Whizzer backed down, though still with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to their respective ‘starting places’ marked on the floor at opposite ends of the room. Taking up an entire wall of the room was a large timer, one conjured with what Marvin recognised as his own projection charm, which he’d submitted anonymously to the Experimental Charms department two months ago. He was somewhat surprised that it had been approved so quickly, even with the pages of notes he’d supplied along with its incantation ( _ proiectura magna _ ) and a diagram of the wand movement required. He wondered where the actual clock being projected was.

 

“We shall,” he replied, moving to the red marker labelled ‘testee’, Brown walking over to its blue counterpart, labelled ‘tester’. 

 

“On the count of three then, Marvin,” Whizzer told him, not breaking eye contact as he continued. “Three… two…  _ ONE _ !” 

 

With the last yelled word, Marvin could see the timer begin from the corner of his eye. He was otherwise preoccupied, however, by the highly trained auror now stalking towards him. Though a single spell had yet to be cast, chills went down Marvin’s spine. Auror Brown’s demeanor had completely changed, his posture adjusted from slouching to predatory. He couldn’t deny that the sight was somewhat intoxicating, but forced himself to remain focused. In his youthful days as a champion under-seventeen’s dueller, Marvin would already have dived headfirst into conflict. Now, at thirty, he was somewhat rusty, the yearly assessments the only times he got to fight. Whizzer was, by Weasley’s testimony, the best auror in the junior department, so it would be no easy achievement to last three minutes against him in battle. Were it not for Weasley’s warning, he would likely have underestimated him, a fatal mistake.

 

Wordlessly, Marvin sent a stunner at him, the first spark of an actual clash between them. As easily as breathing, Whizzer ducked out of the way of the charm’s trajectory, letting it impact harmlessly with a wall. The room itself was warded against all spells, meaning that anything that hit a wall, or the ceiling for that matter, was simply absorbed. The floor was modifiable to a degree, a fact Marvin had come to learn three years previously when his tester had made it grow tendrils which held him in place.

 

Returning fire while running towards him, Whizzer yelled “ _ Paulo cæcus _ !”, a temporary blinding curse that Marvin’s hasty shield charm thankfully deflected, the bright white beam absorbed by the ceiling when it bounced off. Marvin was forced to not only parry Whizzer magically, but physically, as he dodged away from rather muggle ways of fighting that he hadn’t been expecting. 

 

_ “Magna parete!”  _ Marvin shouted desperately, the large wall he conjured only allowing him ten seconds to catch his breath before Whizzer managed to dispel it. It would have been less had Marvin not used one of his own spells in the knowledge that Brown wouldn’t immediately know how to get rid of it.

 

“Impressive, Feldman,” Whizzer praised, the two of them beginning to circle each other, both waiting for the other to strike first. “I haven’t seen that one before, where did you find it?”

 

“Family library,” Marvin lied, unsuccessfully trying a non-verbal leg-locking curse on his adversary. Again, Whizzer didn’t even bother to shield, leaping out of the way effortlessly, his movements fluid and natural. 

 

“Ah, the famous pureblood ‘family libraries’,” Whizzer replied, “Rather an unfair advantage, don’t you think?”

 

“Not really,” Marvin countered, sidestepping a stunner. “There’s plenty of other spells out there if you bother to read into it. Why, Hogwarts only teaches us the latin spells; you’d think given its location that they’d at least slip a little Gaelic into the curriculum.”

 

“Such as, Mr Intellectual?” Whizzer queried, cocking his head. “Possibly something along the lines of…  _ tuisleachadh? _ ” he continued, waving his wand with the last word and sending a jet of white light straight towards Marvin who, in his shock, nearly didn’t shield the tripping jinx in time.

 

“Surprised, Marvin? I can be clever as well as pretty, you know,” Whizzer teased him, winking and then taking advantage of Marvin’s consequent distractedness to send a wordless spell which he failed to dodge. Luckily for him, all it did was paint his nails hot pink, not that he was all too pleased with that result.

 

Though laughing at Marvin’s new style, Whizzer still pointed out “If that had been something deadlier you could be seriously incapacitated right now, Feldman; keep your guard up.

 

In lieu of a response, Marvin shot back with another Gaelic spell,  _ ceangaltach ròpan,  _ a binding spell which sent ropes towards the auror, ropes which unfortunately bounced off his well timed  _ protego _ . At least, Marvin noted with no small satisfaction, he had provided an attack strong enough that Whizzer had bothered to shield against it.

 

“Kinky as that is, Marvin, let’s save the tying me up for a later date,” Whizzer joked. 

 

At least, Marvin  _ thought  _ that he was joking. Hoped, at least. The thought wasn’t appealing to him, no, not in the slightest. Marvin was straight, after all. “Hilarious, Brown. You’re quite the comedian.”

 

_ “Tarantallegra!”  _

 

The curse hit Marvin square in the chest, his shield charm too late to stop it but managing, at least, to stop the stunner fired immediately after.  _ “Finite incantatem,” _ he ordered, stopping his legs dancing wildly.

 

“You’re quite the dancer, sweetheart,” Whizzer jibed. “You should teach me some moves sometime.”

 

The timer was at two minutes fifty. Ten seconds more and he would have finally qualified for the NATF. “I’m sure you’ve plenty of moves without my guidance, Brown,” he replied, sending a  _ petrificus totalus _ at him which only missed him by a fraction of an inch, even when he dodged. 

 

“Wouldn’t  _ you  _ like to know?” Whizzer retorted flirtily, though the near miss with the full body-bind curse seemed to have only had the unwelcome effect of making him even more focused on their duel. When Marvin took another crack at him with the impediment jinx, Whizzer’s shield was up before the word  _ impedimenta _ had even fully left his lips. His reactions were whip fast, even more so when he focused more on the duel and less on fake flirting with Marvin. 

 

Marvin  _ assumed  _ it was fake; the other man must be delusional to think he was anything other than straight as a ruler. Yet, although Whizzer was putting more thought into their fight than before, Marvin could see fairly quickly that that did  _ not _ mean that he was going to stop flirting, as he had previously thought.

 

“Now, Marvin sweetie, I can hardly let  _ you _ upstage _ me _ with the kinky spells, now can I?” Whizzer teased, the sentence putting Marvin on edge, tensing for whatever the hell it was that Brown had in mind.

 

He didn’t have to wonder for long.

 

Brown sent a stunner slightly to one side, making him step away from it to the right. What Marvin didn’t realise, however, was that Whizzer had deliberately missed to distract him from the fact that he was stepping into the path of the spell fired immediately after. Too focused for a split second on the  _ stupefy _ , his guard was let down and he didn’t shield the second spell in time.

 

“ _ Ingens cavea!”  _ Whizzer shouted, a fraction of a second after his silent stunner. With his words, a cage sprung up around Marvin from nothing, the space so limited that his arms were pinned to his sides. He couldn’t raise his wand to defend himself, especially as it had fallen to the ground when the cage appeared, and his wandless shielding capacities were limited at best. Besides, he was too distracted by the self-satisfied grin on Whizzer’s face as he stalked towards him to even attempt it.

 

He could, however, prolong his imminent failure slightly longer as he wandlessly summoned Brown’s wand with a muttered “ _ Expelliarmus _ .”

 

Although this would have in no way saved him from death were it a real battle, it bought him a few more seconds as Whizzer picked up both their wands from the floor and then, finally, pointed his at Marvin.  _ “Stupefy,” _ he incanted, bringing an end to the assessment as Marvin’s world faded to black.

 

\-----------------------

 

Whizzer vanished the cage, catching Marvin’s unconscious form before he could hit the floor and carefully laying him down. Bending over to revive him, he noticed just how peaceful the older man looked like this, his face free of the tension that he obviously carried with him each day. It was a good look on him, and Whizzer felt almost guilty breaking him away from it.  _ “Renervate,”  _ he murmured reluctantly.

 

As Marvin’s eyes fluttered gently open, Whizzer noticed how his eyes didn’t go first to the timer, which was frozen on the reading 03:09.94, but to the face of the man above him. At that point, more than ever, he was sure that Feldman’s illusion of heterosexuality was just that: an illusion. His breath audibly caught in his throat as Whizzer leant slightly closer with the intention of helping him up, though he held onto the moment a little longer when he saw the effect he was having on him. Marvin’s eyes flickered from Whizzer’s eyes to his mouth, to the exposed skin at his collar and then back to his lips. He seemed to be having difficulty forming coherent thoughts at their close proximity, breath hitching again when Whizzer grabbed his hand to pull him up from the floor. 

 

When they were standing, Marvin didn’t drop his hand immediately as he’d expected him too, still caught up in a trance, seemingly. They were still very close to one another, Marvin’s head tilted up slightly so that he could meet his eyes. “Well done,” Whizzer finally said, breaking the tense silence.

 

“For what?” Marvin asked softly, still looking only at Whizzer and nothing other than Whizzer. He clearly had yet to see his score.

 

“You passed, idiot,” Whizzer told him, amused that he hadn’t noticed at once. “You’d have seen that for yourself if you weren’t so busy getting lost in my eyes, stunningly beautiful as they are.”

 

That, it seemed, was what it took to snap him out of his momentary lapse from his Mr Straight Guy persona. “Great, thank you for your time,” he said politely, shaking the hand he must’ve suddenly realised he was still holding, dropping it like it scalded him after only a second. “I’ll be off now,” he said hurriedly, making his way to the door faster than a rich middle class white lady during her morning power-walk session.

 

“Feldman!” Whizzer called after him.

 

“Yes, Auror Brown?” he replied, so uptight and professional that his demeanor mere seconds ago seemed worlds away.

 

“Your wand?”

 

“Oh, yes, that,” Marvin replied embarrassedly, rushing back to snatch it from him before running from the room like a hare with a greyhound in hot pursuit. 

 

If Feldman was straight, Whizzer would eat his hat, and that hat was expensive. 

 

\----------------------- 

 

Due to the fact that he would have to take some preliminary tests to assess his intellect, Jason’s first official day at school wouldn’t be until the following day. Instead, his mother was taking him there after the school’s official opening hours, as Dr Mendel had kindly offered to supervise the three tests in his own time after school. Trina was to stay there as well, because even though Dr Mendel seemed to be the nicest man she’d ever met, she was not willing to leave her child in the sole company of anyone, especially someone she barely knew.

 

They arrived with a pop in the alley, making their way inside the school. It was 3:35, five minutes after the children were let out, so there were still multiple cars parked outside and children running amok all over the grass out front. The bratty child who had shown them around, and for the life of her Trina couldn’t recall the kid’s name, waved at them as she ran past to a large car where her guardian waited. When they reached the reception, they were waved through after signing the visitor’s log. Dr Mendel was waiting for them there.

 

“Mrs Feldman, Jason, it’s wonderful to see you both again,” he greeted them, reaching out to shake Trina’s hand. The action would have been condemned in upper-class pureblood society, where handshakes between men and women were hardly in the complex etiquette one must follow. She understood, however, that his actions were that of a muggle who knew nothing of such things, and accepted his hand. Though not accustomed to the action, she was sure that he must have held on slightly longer than necessary, but found that she didn’t mind. 

 

“And you, Dr Mendel. Do please call me Trina,” Trina replied with a sweet smile. “Jason has been quite hyperactive today looking forward to these tests.”

 

“Looking forward to tests? You’re a man after my own heart, Jason,” Dr Mendel replied, grinning at the child as the three of them walked down the corridor. “Well, you’ll be taking them in the classroom from last time. Your mother and I will sit in the courtyard area just outside as to not disturb you.”

 

“Thank you,” Jason replied politely, not really showing much emotion. Nobody would have known that he had been practically bouncing off the walls all day with excitement. Trina was used to this and placed her hand on his shoulder reassuringly as they stopped outside the classroom. She wasn’t much use when it came to comforting her confusing son, nobody was, but she tried.

 

“You’re sure that you want to do all three tests today, Jason?” Dr Mendel double checked. “It’s not usual protocol, but your mother insisted that you were up for it.”

 

Jason nodded determinedly. “I want to start school as soon as possible,” he told him, his tone allowing no room for debate. “Besides, I tend to find tests easy.”

 

\----------------------- 

 

Five minutes after they had left Jason inside with the first test, which was supposed to take half an hour, Mendel found his polite conversation with Trina interrupted by Jason opening the door from the classroom into the courtyard. 

 

“I’ve finished,” Jason told them bluntly. “I would wait, but I’m already bored and I’ve checked it twice.

 

“Jason, many kids your age don’t even manage to  _ finish _ the test in that time span, yet alone finish it twenty-five minutes early. You can’t possibly expect me to believe that y-” Mendel was cut off as Jason handed him the completed sheet of maths assessment questions, each one neatly filled out and appearing, at least at first glance, to be correct. “Oh.”

 

“I could do stuff at that level with ease when I was  _ four _ , Dr Mendel,” Jason reasoned. “Is that really the level that most my age aspire to? That’s pretty depressing, if you ask me.”

 

“Well,” Mendel replied, more than slightly in awe of the kid’s obvious intelligence. “Would you like a break before moving on to the spelling and reading comprehension tests?”

 

“I’m quite alright,” he answered. “Shall we get on with it?”

 

“Very well. Jason, do you mind your mother sitting in on these next two? I need to be there to read out the spelling questions for you and to listen to you read out loud.”

 

“That doesn’t bother me in the slightest, Dr Mendel.”

 

\----------------------- 

 

Trina watched on proudly as Jason read aloud from the set text, his advanced knowledge clear as he pronounced every word with ease. He hadn’t made a single error in his numeracy and spelling tests, his reading clearly one more thing that came naturally to him. She’d no doubt that he was headed straight to Ravenclaw; if she hadn’t quite the vivid recollection of him coming into the world, she’d have sworn that Rowena herself had somehow birthed him.

 

_ “And so the children decided that they liked the dog much more, making the cat leave in an angry huff,”   _ Jason finished, putting down the piece of paper he had been reading from. “What idiotic children. Cats are far superior in every way; if I had a dog I’d let it run away, and good riddance that would be. As for an ‘angry huff’, has this author ever met a cat? They are distinguished far beyond such things,” he ranted, ending with a hopeful look at Trina.

 

“I know that look, Jason,” she sighed. “And no, no matter how much you know about cats you are not getting one until your eleventh birthday.”

 

“Why then specifically?” Dr Mendel enquired, puzzled.

 

“No reason!” both mother and son said in sync, making him even more confused.

 

“Moving on!” Trina hurried to brush over their near miss. “Jason is good to start now, I assume?”

 

Obviously deciding to drop it, Dr Mendel nodded. “I imagine he’d do well to skip a few years, but we should let him mingle with his peers before taking any action in that regard. He’s been somewhat socially isolated, I gather?”

 

“Yes, that makes sense, Doctor,” Trina agreed and then, turning to Jason, said “Let’s get you back home, then!”

 

“Thank you, Dr Mendel,” Jason spoke without any prompting from his mother to show manners, another thing which set him apart from other kids his age. He was altogether far too collected.

 

Trina hurried her son out of the school, eager to get away from the teacher’s questions so that she could think of a plausible backstory that should encompass them all.

 

\----------------------- 

 

Charlotte was three and a half hours into an eight hour shift. 1-9pm at St Mungo's was something straight out of hell, as much as she loved being a healer. She could be thankful, at least, that it wasn’t another overnighter. She was covering for a healer off sick from the Bodily Transfiguration department; usually she was on the emergency room staff specialising in ‘muggle injuries/conditions’, as she had a degree in muggle medical science as well as in healing.

 

At that moment, however, she was trying to figure out how the hell she could reverse the condition of a man who had sprouted thick weeds over every inch of his body. “How did you manage this?” she questioned, truly perplexed.

 

“It wasn’t me, it was some bitch,” he growled, spittle flying from out of the nettles covering his mouth. “Dumb whore couldn’t take a compliment.”

 

She had half a mind to leave him in his condition, if not curse him further. “So, you catcalled a woman and she retaliated?” she clarified.

 

“Yeah. Some broads are just too sensitive these days,” he complained, crossing his green arms petulantly.

 

“What exactly did you say to her, and how  _ exactly _ did she respond?” Charlotte asked through gritted teeth. The man was truly asking for a slap. 

 

“Well, she was wearing figure hugging robes like a common whore,” he elaborated. Her eye twitched as she steadfastly refrained from cursing the horrible man. “So I said ‘your ass is grass and I’m gonna mow it’, and the stupid bitch went and cursed me. Like I said, some people just don’t know when to take a compliment”

 

“What was the curse, sir, if you could please try and remember,” she asked with forced politeness, multiple curses far worse than his current one running through her mind.

 

“I think it was  _ cutis herba _ ,” he replied. “Do you guys have a bar here? I need a drink.”

 

“This is a  _ hospital _ , sir.”

 

“So?” he questioned in his privileged, ignorant, whiny voice.

 

“So,  _ no,  _ we don’t have a bar,” she snarled. “Anyway, I think I’ve figured out the counter-curse, shame as that may be as I was  _ so _ enjoying our conversation.  _ Finis herba _ .”

 

The grass vanished from his skin, revealing a pointy-nosed, weak-chinned man with watery eyes and a pallid complexion who was giving her what appeared to be his attempt at a seductive smile. “Well, if you were enjoying our talk, perhaps we could continue it at my mansion after your shift?” he leered, finishing his spiel with a wink.

 

“It was sarcasm, genius. Now get out of my hospital room; I doubt you’d want to bang a gay muggleborn anyhow,” she ordered him with a glare that Medusa would be envious of. At her words, he adopted a look of utter revulsion.

 

“I’ll be off then. I can’t believe I let such scum near my affections,” he sneered.

 

“Wait!” Charlotte called after him, suddenly realising something as he made to stride out of the hospital room.

 

“Begging me won’t work, mudblood,” he practically spat.

 

“Okay, one: you’re getting a ban from St Mungo's for at least a year for that slur,” Charlotte retorted. “And two, I remember you now without the weeds all over you; you’re lightbulb guy! Do tell me how you managed to get that up there.”

 

He let out a noise like a chicken being punched, and scurried out of the room with a face red as a postbox. 

 

Next, she moved on to a mild mannered woman who had somehow replaced her ears with teacups in a spell testing accident. With no exact curse to find the counter for, Charlotte’s work was cut out for her far more so than with Mr Prejudiced Lightbulb-Kink. Working out a solution took her right up until her 5pm break, by which point she  _ just _ managed to reverse the effects in time for her to run off to the hospital cafeteria.

 

While for most catering jobs house elves beat humans out in every way, making Cordelia’s cooking aspirations rather difficult, house elf magic interfered with the treatments at St Mungo’s and so she managed to get hired there. Speaking of her girlfriend, Charlotte smiled as she saw Cordelia rushing to greet her as she entered the cafeteria. As there were two chefs and not all that many customers, she was able to schedule her breaks around Charlotte’s as hers were far more flexible than a healer’s strict schedule.

 

Both of them sat down at a table in the corner, well away from the only other people in the room: two old women who sat knitting while sipping from large bowls of tomato soup. Charlotte greeted her girlfriend with a chaste kiss, Cordelia grabbing her hand before she could flip off the more ancient of the old women, who had tutted loudly and disapprovingly at their small display of affection. 

 

“Now, now, love. Just ignore the bigoted old fart, she’ll be dead of old age soon enough anyway,” Cordelia reasoned, pressing a kiss to the hand she still held between her own. “How has your shift been so far?”

 

Charlotte explained how grass-guy had turned out to be the lightbulb man she’d told her about a few weeks ago and complained about the onslaught of rude patients she’d been having that day. With a sigh, she finished her rant and smiled tiredly at her girlfriend. “And you, my love? How have the public been today?” she enquired, making sure to give Cordelia her full attention no matter how tired she may feel. 

 

“Well, Elliott DeMiefe was back at it again today,” she bemoaned, “And by ‘at it’ I mean he was trying to convince me that he was the man to cure me of, and I quote, my ‘silly queer phase’. I was just trying to serve him his mashed potatoes and he kept offering to take me on a romantic cruise of the Caribbean.”

 

“Well, if those were the same mashed potatoes I tried the other week, I don’t blame the man for stalling,” Charlotte teased, trying to make light of the situation, making Cordelia roll her eyes and giggle while faux-glaring at her lover. It made for quite the look.

 

DeMiefe’s interest in Cordelia was no new occurrence. At first, they’d both hoped that telling him she was, in fact, gay and in a relationship with one of the healers would cull his advances. Sadly, that was no such deterrent. Charlotte suspected that his interest was less in Cordelia herself than the considerable family fortune she would be set to inherit if she ‘saw the error of her ways’, led a straight lifestyle and got reinstated to the family line. 

 

A little over two years ago, Cordelia had come out to her parents. By no coincidence, she had also been blasted from her family tree, stripped of her inheritance and kicked out of the Braxton household at that exact same time. The memory of that day was still fresh in Charlotte’s mind, every detail still raw.

 

_ West London was in the midst of a thunderstorm the likes of which hadn’t been seen in years. Flashes of lightning illuminated the sky with increasing frequency, the close following of thunder indicating just how close they were to Charlotte’s family home. Her mother Elise’s medical profession coupled with her father’s legacy of old family money had allowed for quite the impressive house, surrounded by a large garden with a tall fence all enclosing it to keep the dog in. Said garden was completely obscured from view at that moment by a combination of the pouring rain and the general darkness outside; it was 11pm after all. _

 

_ The family of three were staying up to listen to the storm together, an activity which was something of a tradition when the weather was that bad. Another crack sounded, all of them logically assuming that it was lightning and not a woman apparating onto their porch until said woman began pounding on their door. By the time Quentin DuBois had wrenched it open, the poor woman standing there was completely sodden, her blonde hair plastered against her face, the rain streaming down her face masking her tears. _

 

_ “Delia!” Charlotte cried, pushing past her parents to embrace her shaking girlfriend and pull her into the warmth of the hallway. “Darling, what on earth happened to you? Your face!” she exclaimed, noticing for the first time the bruise covering her left cheek. “I’m going to kill whoever did that to you, I swear to fucking God.” _

 

_ “Charlie, let’s get your girlfriend warm in front of the fire so she’s less likely to get hypothermia while you quiz her,” Elise reasoned with her daughter, leading the two of them back to the living room and steering Cordelia into the chair by the fire. Only once Charlotte had performed a drying charm and the still shivering blonde was wrapped up in a massive blanket did Elise let Charlotte continue with her questions. _

 

_ “Baby, let me heal that for you,” Charlotte said, cupping Cordelia’s face with one hand as she performed a series of healing charms with the other until the angry-looking bruise was no more. “Please tell me what happened to you, love,” she pleaded. _

 

_ Cordelia finally spoke for the first time since her unexpected arrival. “I told my parents,” she told them, those four words conveying all that Charlotte needed to realise why her girlfriend had shown up out of nowhere, beaten and alone. The Braxton family were one of the oldest English pureblood families, her parents so horrifically traditional that they’d threatened to disown her when she was sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin. If it had been Gryffindor, Charlotte had not the slightest of doubts that they would have indeed disowned their eleven year old child without looking back. Instead, it had taken this, another thing that Cordelia couldn’t change about herself but they deemed ‘wrong’. _

 

_ “Oh honey,” Elise sighed, her heart clearly breaking for her daughter’s girlfriend. “They don’t deserve you.” _

 

_ “You’re welcome here for as long as you want or need to be, Cordelia,” Quentin added. “From the way Charlotte speaks of you, we’ll be having a veritable saint staying in our home.” _

 

_ At that, Cordelia managed a small laugh, giving her girlfriend a weak but loving smile. “Thank you so much, all of you. I’m sorry for imposing,” she apologised. _

 

_ “You could never be an imposition,” Charlotte replied with no room for argument in her voice. “Now, do you want some tea? It’ll make things seem slightly less bad, I assure you.” _

 

_ “I could go for tea.” _

 

“Charlie, where has your mind gone?” Cordelia asked, jolting Charlotte out of her reminiscence. “You looked like you were miles away.”

 

“Sorry love, I was just remembering when you moved in with my parents and I,” Charlotte explained, reaching out to hold her lover’s hand and smiling fondly. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

 

“Don’t be getting all soppy on me now, Doctor DuBois,” Cordelia chided teasingly. “You can’t make me tear up at 5pm, that’s just not allowed.”

 

“Anything in there to distract me?” she asked, gesturing to the tupperware container that her girlfriend had brought with her to the table. Cordelia knew by then that Charlotte only ate full meals at home but loved when she brought in baking for their shared breaktimes.

 

“But of course,” Cordelia replied, feigning offense that that would even be a question. “I made Danishes.”

 

“I knew there was a reason I keep you around,” Charlotte joked, stealing another light kiss as she reached across to snag a pastry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave comments; they're so incredibly motivating and I love replying to them :) kudos are also much appreciated, of course!


	4. Jason's First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay!! I had a real block with one of the scenes for some reason but I finally managed to get past it. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Also, not related to the chapter, but I saw BOM on the West End last Wednesday and it was the best experience of my life. I stagedoored and there was only one other person there with me; London is very different to NYC it seems. Steven Webb was the best McKinley ever, if you ever have a chance to go see BOM with this cast please do it I implore you.

**Chapter Four - Jason’s First Day**

 

“And does anyone know where this country is on the map?” Mendel asked, looking around the classroom as he clicked his powerpoint on to show an assortment of images titled ‘New Zealand’. He was met only by an array of children pointedly averting their gaze as to avoid eye contact. “Nobody?”

 

There was only one child who wasn’t making an obvious effort to not look at him, although he still wasn’t. Jason had a large book propped open on his desk and he was perusing it instead of paying any attention to the geography lesson that Mendel was trying to teach. Although the kid was new, Mendel felt that it was still important that he understand that ignoring his teacher wouldn’t get him anywhere in life.

 

“Jason,” Mendel said pointedly, making him look up at last from his reading. “Do you know the answer?”

 

Naturally, Jason would be embarrassed at zoning out, would apologise and then-

 

“It’s in the bottom right, with Australia above and to the left,” Jason replied without even looking at the map. Somehow, miraculously, the child had still been paying attention to him despite reading at the same time. In addition, he also answered a question correctly and with complete ease that the rest of the class couldn’t even touch.

 

“Well done, Jason!” he praised, moving swiftly on to the next slide and trying not to focus on the jealous glances other kids were shooting the new student.

 

Ten minutes later, as the class enthusiastically coloured in print-outs of world maps in a variety of hues, Mendel was walking around the room and passed the desk in the back left corner that Jason had picked out. The book was neatly in the corner of his desk with the boy’s pencil case on top of it as he methodically and neatly coloured in his copy of the map. Upon further observation, he noticed that Jason had even added a key and labelled the continents in black biro.

 

What kind of child was this?

 

A fiercely intelligent one, that was for sure; the book he had been so avidly reading was ‘Fermat’s Last Theorem’ by Simon Singh. Mendel himself had only read it a few years ago during his degree. Surely the child couldn’t possibly hope to comprehend such a work, even as well as it was written.

 

As to not draw attention to Jason even more so than he already had, Mendel waited until the break to ask him about it. He didn’t even have to tell him to hang back, as he had opted to dither by the door leading to the playground instead of actually going outside; understandably, he was clearly nervous about his first interaction with his fellow classmates.

 

“Jason?”

 

Jason’s head jerked up, as he must have been lost in thought. “Yes, Dr Mendel?” he enquired politely.

 

“That book you were reading,” he paused, wondering how to word his question without sounding patronising. He didn’t want his new student to hate him, after all.

 

“Oh that? It’s very interesting, though I think Singh skips over a lot of the depth of the theory to make it more reader-accessible,” Jason responded critically. “It’s more of a novel about the journey of Andrew Wiles than actually a comprehensive explanation of the theorem itself.”

 

Mendel had to make a conscious effort to stop his jaw dropping. “I, um, I quite agree with your assessment,” he wondered. This child, this _child_ had understood the book more than many people his own age could ever hope to.

 

“You know,” Jason remarked, “I wonder how Fermat’s proof actually went. Obviously it couldn’t have involved ellipticals, so how he went about it is quite the mystery.”

 

“Why did you choose that to read?” Mendel questioned. “It’s hardly usual reading material for an eight-year-old, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

 

“I’m not like most eight-year-olds, as I’m sure _you’re_ aware,” he retorted, a slight smug smile tugging at his lips.

 

“Yes, you’re certainly right there Jason,” Mendel admitted, laughing. “Anyway, why aren’t you outside?”

 

Jason’s smile, small as it had originally been, dropped into nonexistence. “I get on better with adults. Kids feel threatened by me,” he explained, distancing himself from them in a likely deliberate choice of the word ‘kids’, even though he himself would be technically defined as such.                                                                         

 

“I understand that all too well, but you really should at least try talking to them at lunch,” Mendel reasoned. His heart went out to the child, memories of his own school days which could be best summarised by the word ‘isolation’ rushing to the forefront of his mind. At that age, and in fact all through upper school as well, all he wanted to do was hide from the world.

 

Aged eleven, he’d made the mistake of bringing his favourite book to school, the book his father had gifted him for his tenth birthday and the last present his father had ever given him. That day had ended with him crying as he pulled the book from a puddle in the school playground, a large group of his classmates in one large circle of taunts around him.

 

“Maybe,” Jason replied noncommittally. Before Mendel could say much more, children began flooding back into the classroom as the school bell rang to signal the end of break.

 

“Okay everyone!” Mendel addressed the class enthusiastically, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “We’re going to be learning some history next, followed by mathematics. How exciting!”

 

Jason was the only one who didn’t let out a dread-imbued groan at his words.

 

\-----------------------

 

Meanwhile, Trina was at a tea party craving the sweet release of death as Marianne Chase harped on about how society’s standards were slipping with the ‘amount of mudbloods in the ministry’.

 

There were five of them in total, Trina herself included, at the gathering Marianne was hosting. Along with them was Cynthia Infanze, Violet Bealder and Estrella Monford. Their little group consisted of the highest standing families in Wizarding Britain, bar Violet as she was American but still from an old enough family line that she was accepted there.

 

Marianne, their host, was a petite, blonde haired woman with starkly angular features and piercing blue eyes that always seemed to be judging the recipient of her gaze. To be fair, they almost definitely were. She was somewhat pretty in a sharp sort of way, but her personality far overshadowed whatever sliver of good looks she may have possessed, the ugliness of her heart shining through into her face and twisting it.

 

Cynthia, on the other hand, was just plain ugly. Her horrible temperament probably didn’t help matters, but genetics had not fared her well by any means. Built like a rake, she was near-entirely flat chested, with large, spelled black curls which appeared to be trying to distract from her otherwise unremarkable appearance. Her eyes were a pale, watery brown, her nose rather hooked and what there was of her thin lips was smeared a garish red. The fact that she was sitting next to Estrella just made her look even more unsightly in contrast.

 

Estrella, like all of the Monford family, had stunningly beautiful features with luscious black tresses which put Cynthia’s to shame, ivory skin and eyes like sapphires. The Monfords, like the Feldmans, were one of few English pureblood families who made a concerted effort to prevent inbreeding.

 

Violet had been horrified at the state of Wizarding Britain when she arrived there, having moved across the pond for her Husband Aaron’s new position in the Department of International Magical Relations.

 

Were the Bealders not such an influential family in America that they still held some considerable power in the United Kingdom, Violet would most certainly not have been accepted by the high class as she had been, albeit grudgingly. Along with blood purist views, much of the old families were rather racist, most certainly looking down on Violet for being mixed race. In contrast to the levels of racism in American non-magical society, American magical folk were far more progressive in every way than Britain, hence Violet being the only one asides from Trina who wasn’t a blood purist at their little gathering. The two of them often exchanged subtly uncomfortable glances during conversations with the other women, and would complain to each other in private. The conversation at that point had definitely steered to uncomfortable.

 

Cynthia, Estrella and Marianne were snootily commenting on Arthur Weasley’s latest endeavour in the ministry: the Muggle Memory Act. He was trying to make the illegal use of _obliviate_ on muggles punishable by a life sentence in Azkaban rather than a mere six months as it was at that point. It made sense to Trina; it was completely unethical and should only be condoned to preserve the Statute of Secrecy. The cases Weasley was bringing up were those in which people, mostly men, had used the charm to do what they liked with muggle women and then make them forget it to absolve themselves of consequences.

 

Violet rolled her eyes at Trina as Cynthia whined. “Muggle filth don’t deserve rights any more than those of common animals. In fact, my siamese cats are far more worthy,” she postulated, sniffing. “Hector and Maurice are prize specimens; I’d get far more galleons for them than a muggle if I owned one.”

 

“If only the ministry allowed muggle slaves,” Marianne sighed. “That’s their place, at our feet.”

 

Trina thought of Mendel, how he’d been nicer to her than any other man she had ever met, how he’d treated her as a person rather than an accessory. The three bigots before her were not worth a single percent of what he was. She could tell that from just two meetings with him.

 

“You don’t think that enslaving people is wrong?” she queried, incredulous at their level of prejudice.

 

“Oh Trina, darling,” Estrella tittered, her laughter like a peal of bells. She looked and sounded rather like a Disney princess, deceiving as her beauty was. “Muggles aren’t _people_.”

 

\-----------------------

 

“Anyone other than Jason?” Dr Mendel asked the class at large, Jason’s hand still the only one in the air. “Well then, Jason, what is the answer?”

 

“Twenty-five,” he replied confidently and correctly.

 

“Well done Jason! The next question is-” Dr Mendel began to say before being cut off by the loud ringing of the school bell. “Next time, then,” he amended, laughing as the class whooped in response. “See you in an hour for Art!”

 

The classroom quickly emptied via two doors, one to the outside area for kids who’d brought packed lunches and the other leading towards the dining hall for school meals. Jason hung back again, hoping that his teacher had forgotten that he wanted him to go and spend time with his peers.

 

He had not.

 

“Jason, you need to try and speak to people,” Dr Mendel insisted apologetically but firmly. “You won’t ever make friends with them if you don’t try.”

 

“What if I don’t want to try?” Jason asked.

 

“Well, I’m afraid you have to,” Dr Mendel reiterated, gesturing to the door. Only when Jason had stepped outside did he see Dr Mendel leave the classroom.

 

Awkwardly, he went and sat on a bench near a group of five kids his age, smiling tentatively when they looked up in his direction. “Nerd,” the closest muttered before she pointedly turned her back on him. He waited for a second, hoping that she was joking. When it became clear that she was not, he clenched his jaw and hurried back inside, desperately staving off an outburst of accidental magic.

 

He needed to do something to take his mind off the embarrassment that was making sparks dance at his fingertips, so he concentrated all the energy elsewhere into something productive, levitating a book down from Dr Mendel’s shelf that was far too high for him to reach. Behind the desk was out of sight of the window, so he wasn’t worried about one of his unfriendly classmates learning that he had yet another quality that set him apart from his peers. “From Here to Infinity,” he read the title aloud. “Looks interesting.”

 

Dr Mendel did a double take when he came back in with a steaming cup of green tea only to find Jason sat at the back of the room absorbed in a book. Jason looked up nervously, worried about being kicked out again. His chest felt tighter at the mere thought. He wondered if going outside again would make him cry, and he came to the conclusion that it probably would, his level of panic rising.

 

“Hey, hey, calm down kid, what’s wrong?” Dr Mendel asked concernedly, coming and sitting on top of the desk next to him.

 

Jason was breathing quickly, trying desperately to not do any accidental magic. If he did, the obliviation squad would be paying poor Dr Mendel a visit, not to mention that it would almost certainly get back to his grandparents that his dad had let him attend a muggle school. “I don’t want to go outside they hate me they hate me they hate me,” he choked out.

 

“Okay, you don’t have to today! I promise you can just stay inside,” Dr Mendel assured him, desperately trying to calm the panicking child.

 

Jason relaxed a little, feeling the threat of a magical outburst lessening as he made an effort to control his breathing. “You promise?” he asked, eyes vulnerable and darting about like a cornered animal.

 

“I promise,” Dr Mendel repeated. “Now, what do you normally do to relax yourself if you get upset?”

 

“I play chess.”

 

“With who, your mother?”

 

“Oh no,” Jason laughed at the thought. “She’s awful and always asks the bishops for help.”

 

“What do you mean?” Dr Mendel questioned, confused at the wording.

 

“Oh, I, uh, mean the family friends whose surnames are Bishop, she owls them for strategy advice,” he stammered.

 

“Owls?”

 

“You misheard me, I said _emails_ ,” he lied, trying to cover up his tracks. In his shaken state he’d gotten messy with his muggle jargon.

 

“Oh, right, I thought that was a bit odd. Maybe I need my hearing tested,” Dr Mendel joked, thankfully falling for his explanation. “So who _do_ you play the game with?”

 

“Myself, mostly,” Jason admitted.

 

“Well, as you know I’m fairly good at it; would you like to play a couple games with me now?” Dr Mendel offered, gesturing to the chess set on his shelf.

 

“Sure,” replied Jason, smiling genuinely for the first time that day.

 

\-----------------------

 

Trina said her polite goodbyes to Estrella, Cynthia and Marianne, the first two apparating away and Marianne closing the door to her home, leaving Trina and her best friend alone at last. She could not be more grateful to have someone like Violet Bealder in her life; her social circles until age twenty-six when she met her had been mostly limited to bigots like the other women at their gathering. In fifth year, she had been partnered with a muggleborn Ravenclaw in Potions. They had got on very well until her father had sent her a strongly worded letter saying that associating with ‘muggle filth’ like Andrea McDougall could compromise her marriage to Marvin Feldman. She suspected a dorm mate had ratted her out. Estrella in particular had looked very smug when she’d asked Professor Snape to move her.

 

Though she felt guilty to admit it, her parents deaths three years ago from an untreatable strain of dragon pox had come as nothing but a relief to her. She’d played the dutifully grieving daughter at their funeral, faux-sobbing into Marvin’s chest as he patted her back awkwardly. In reality she had not shed a tear.

 

As a woman, she could not inherit, so the family fortune had gone to her father’s brother Augustus, who lived in Sweden. However, a sizeable chunk of it had first gone to her personal account to spend on “all the things a proper wife should require”.

 

“Trin, where on earth is your mind right now?” Violet asked, bringing Trina back to the present with a jolt.

 

“Oh, nothing important, just remembering how awful school was with that lot,” Trina explained, rolling her eyes. “If only you’d come to England sooner.”

 

“Well, you’ve got me now and you aren’t getting rid of me, don’t you worry,” Violet reassured. “On that note, I have something to tell you!”

 

“Yes?” Trina asked, intrigued by the way Violet looked fit to burst with her news.

 

“Aaron and I have finally been approved to adopt and we’re picking the baby up tomorrow!” she exclaimed in an excitable non-stop stream of words. “I’ve been dying to tell you for the past three days but I wanted to do it in person. Will you be her godmother?”

 

“I-” Trina choked slightly on her heightened emotions, “Of course, Vee, of course I will! I love you so much, you know that?”

 

“Well, who wouldn’t?” Violet joked, pushing a curl out of her eyes as she laughed. “You must come round next Wednesday,” she implored. “Bring Jason and Marvin as well, we can have dinner together and you can meet the little one!”

 

“Absolutely,” she agreed at once. “Marv gets home early on Wednesdays so that’s perfect.”

 

“Wonderful!”

 

“What’s her name going to be?” Trina enquired, eager to know everything about her future godchild.

 

“Evelyn,” she answered. “Her middle name is going to be Rosemary at Aaron’s mother’s insistence. I wasn’t too sure about it at first but now I’m quite taken with it.”

 

“Evelyn Rosemary Bealder. I love it,” Trina sighed, glad that at least one thing in her life was finally looking up.

 

\-----------------------

 

While Trina laughed happily with her best friend, Marvin was watching the clock in between glances at his work, impatiently waiting as it ticked slowly towards 1pm. When, at last, the minute hand reached twelve and his lunch break had finally arrived, he was up like a shot from his creaky chair.

 

“Don’t suppose you’ll be joining me in the dining hall, Perkins?” he asked his assistant out of habit, knowing the answer even before the man replied.

 

“Not today, Mr Feldman! I still have some final stats to go over, and I’ve brought food of my own from home,” Perkins gestured to a large flask and a cellophane wrapped sandwich.

 

“Well, enjoy!” Marvin told him halfheartedly, making his way to the lift which took him promptly to the eighth floor. As the doors slid open with a chime, the smell of that day’s lunch hit him, his mouth watering at once. Upon closer proximity, he could see the elves dishing up Shepherd’s Pie with fresh vegetables, the pudding section of the tray filled with apple crumble. He knew without tasting that it would be delicious - the house elves never disappointed.

 

He sat down, alone as usual, just as the raucous crowd of aurors came into the dining hall. Without meaning to, his eyes strayed automatically to where Auror Brown was bending to pick up a tray. His breath hitched in his throat.

 

Brown straightened up, tray in hand, and turned as if he could feel Marvin’s gaze upon him. At catching him watching he smirked, raising an eyebrow and giving him a little wave. Marvin hastily looked away, but not before seeing Brown’s colleagues looking confused at their interaction. He wondered how the auror would explain it to his friends; Marvin couldn’t even explain it to himself.

 

\-----------------------

 

“Why were you waving at Feldman back there, Brown?” Jennett Edge asked, breaking from her usual stance of pretending that Whizzer didn’t exist.

 

“Oh, I was the tester for his evaluation yesterday,” he brushed it off. At that, she lost interest and promptly went back to ignoring him as per usual. Some things would never change.

 

Though Whizzer was well liked by the older aurors such as Potter, Weasley, Ranwell and Sanfield, in his own class it was a different story altogether. The first day of training he’d made some well-received introductions and had been confident in his pursuit of friendship with several of his colleagues. At only a few days into their initial training, however, it had become apparent that he was vastly above them with his skill level, so much so that they all resented him for it. He’d always been the first to complete any assignment or to master a new defensive spell, his position at the top of the class long established and unwavering. Nobody was outright rude to him, likely estimating that he’d later be even further above them in the pecking order and realising it would be foolish to make an enemy of him. They just didn’t respond with anything but disinterested politeness to his initial efforts to befriend them. Nearly three years later, the end of training in sight with mere months to go, they still never included him in their lunchtime conversations.

 

Whizzer sat at the end of the table, tucking into his Shepherd’s Pie with his perfected air of indifference while five of his classmates discussed the hand-to-hand combat training they would be engaging in after lunch. Last year, the junior aurors had shared their lunch break with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Whizzer got on fairly well with a couple of people from there, so he had at least had people to eat with who let him in on their discussions. None of them could understand why he’d become an auror when he had been scouted by professional quidditch leagues, but asides from that they hadn’t really had any disagreements. It had been nice to idly talk to them, and he’d certainly missed it this year.

 

Instead of his buddies from MGS, Whizzer now had only his unfriendly co-workers, the Department of Ministry Budgeting which was literally just Feldman, and the five miserable looking fellows who were in charge of apparition testing. He knew only the name of one: Hector Mauve, who had taken Whizzer’s test seven years previously.

 

Looking over at Feldman, Whizzer noticed the other man quickly looking away from him again. That was the second time in five minutes that he’d caught him doing so. Third time’s the charm, so, curious, he kept watching. Sure enough, Feldman glanced back once more after about ten seconds, looking shocked when he found Whizzer’s gaze already trained upon him.

 

Whizzer’s hunch that Feldman wasn’t as straight as he purported to be was becoming more and more believable by the second. Not only was he pretty sure that he’d been staring at his ass when he bent to get his tray, Marvin kept looking at him fleetingly like a middle-schooler with his first crush. That taken into consideration, the other man would surely be more interesting company than his colleagues, if only to watch him getting increasingly flustered. Making a snap decision, he grabbed his tray and stood up, wondering if anyone would even notice his absence.

 

\-----------------------

 

Marvin looked up again, still not sure why his eyes kept being drawn to the attractive auror, only to find that he had disappeared. His whereabouts were not a mystery for long, however, as Marvin heard an all too familiar voice behind him.

 

“Hey stranger,” Whizzer greeted him, smiling flirtatiously as he moved to sit down opposite Marvin at the table. “You rather rushed out on me yesterday.”

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that,” Marvin apologised. “I had to get back to, uh, something,” he added vaguely, cursing himself for not having a believable excuse cooked up. To stop himself rambling further, he shoved a large forkful of food into his mouth.

 

“How… attractive,” Brown commented. “Although, it is _amazing_ just how much you can fit in there.”

 

Marvin choked a little, still managing to swallow his mouthful but only just.

 

“What?” Whizzer queried, the picture of innocence though his eyes divulged his amusement. “I wasn’t implying anything, Marvin. If you interpreted it that way that’s all on you, babe.”

 

“I’m sure you’re just imagining things, Brown,” Finding himself on the receiving end of a pointed look, he begrudgingly amended. “Sorry, I meant _Whizzer_ , of course. Is that ac-”

 

“Actually my real name? Yes, it is,” Whizzer cut him off, evidently used to such a question. Having already wolfed down his Shepherd’s Pie, he made a start on his pudding.

 

“What made you come over here today of all days?” Marvin queried, genuinely curious. “Usually you just stick to yelling your jokingly flirty comments from afar.”

 

“Who’s joking?” Whizzer asked in response. Before Marvin had time to react, he continued. “And can’t a guy shake things up a little?”

 

“I suppose,” Marvin said slowly, still looking and feeling rather skeptical about the whole situation.

 

“Plus,” the auror elaborated, “I couldn’t just let poor you keep pining for me from afar, now could I?”

 

“Ha. Ha. How _incredibly_ funny,” Marvin replied sardonically. Amazingly, he kept his cool although his heart rate felt like it had tripled its pace. “I’ve no intentions of ever ‘pining’ for you, Whizzer Brown.”

 

“You’ll need to tell that to your identical twin Tom who was sitting in your seat staring at me five minutes ago, I wonder where he went?”

 

Having finished his apple crumble, Whizzer’s spoon darted across the table to scoop some up from Marvin’s tray. He made a noise of protest, but quieted as he watched Whizzer close his eyes as he savoured the dessert, sighing contentedly. Although he feigned objection, he didn’t make any real effort to stop the auror as he stole another spoonful.

 

“It’s awful hot in here isn’t it?” Whizzer commented casually, undoing the top two buttons of his auror training robe as he continued. “They really need to update the cooling charms for this room.”

 

Marvin tried, and admittedly failed, not to stare at the exposed part of Whizzer’s chest as he replied. “I’ll, um, put in a report on it,” he promised, attempting to look anywhere but at the collarbone exposed as the other man tugged at his collar.

 

\-----------------------

 

Whizzer was rather enjoying himself. Marvin Feldman was _not_ straight, no doubt about it. Of course the man was also terribly closeted and would claim to be a hundred percent heterosexual, but Whizzer wasn’t remotely fooled by his facade.

 

Feldman was already staring at him in awe, his Mr Straight Guy persona momentarily switched off, so he elected to take it one step further. Stretching dramatically, he added “These damn robes are good for training but by Merlin they’re warm. I wish I could just take them off.”

 

Marvin’s eyes widened. “How about you just use a charm on yourself,” he suggested in a shaky voice.

 

Whizzer felt rather mean teasing him so much but it was _so_ much more fun than sitting with his auror ‘buddies’. He waved his conscience aside. “The only cooling charms I know are for food or to change the temperature of an entire room,” he replied truthfully.

 

“Oh yes, I must not be thinking straight today,” Marvin said with a nervous sort of laugh, taking a large gulp from his glass of water.

 

“I bet you aren’t,” Whizzer muttered more to himself than to Feldman.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” he dismissed, running a hand through his mussed up hair and watching Feldman’s eyes follow his every movement. He wondered if the man had even admitted to himself that he was attracted to Whizzer, or if he was simply waving it off as normal feelings for someone who wasn’t the other half of your uncomfortably heterosexual marriage. “You know, for someone so supposedly straight, you sure do like undressing me with your eyes, Marvin,” Whizzer teased. From the immediate hardening of Marvin’s expression, he could tell that he’d gone too far.

 

“Would you look at that,” Marvin remarked, painfully polite and distant. “I’m all done with lunch; work calls!”

 

With that, he stood up, handed his tray to an eager house elf, then strode out of the dining hall.

 

\-----------------------

 

“Okay, although perhaps not the right wording, let me get this straight,” Charlotte said, lounging back on her couch with her girlfriend leant against her. Whizzer sat on their beanbag chair opposite them, and had just been venting about that day’s events. “You think _Marvin Feldman_ is queer?”

 

Cordelia laughed, still seemingly waiting for Whizzer to yell ‘April Fools!’ despite the fact that it was September. “You _are_ joking, right, Whiz?” she asked.

 

“This is my serious face,” he replied, pointing to himself and adopting his best sincere expression.

 

“It looks more like your constipated face,” Charlotte remarked. “I can run a diagnostic spell on you if you want?” she joked, wand at the ready.

 

“Hilarious,” Whizzer rolled his eyes. “Really though, I wouldn’t have believed me either a week ago but the man is as queer as a triangular galleon. Naturally, I thought I was imagining him checking me out at first, but then it kept happening and happening and happening. I joked about taking my robes off and he practically creamed his pants. I’d never noticed him looking at me before but now it seems like that’s all he’s doing.”

 

“Are we talking about the same Marvin Feldman?” said Charlotte, her facial expression best described as ‘incredulous’. “Cause from what I’ve seen of him he exudes ‘boring straight upper class white guy’.”

 

“He looked ready to pin me up against a wall yesterday in his assessment. And then after the duel when I _renervated_ him, I gave him my hand to help him up and he didn’t let go of it for a solid thirty seconds,” he insisted.

 

“Well, if anyone is gonna seduce the married heir to the Feldman fortune I suppose it could only be you,” Cordelia sighed.

 

“Who could resist this?” Whizzer asked, gesturing to his body. “Hey!” he exclaimed moments later when both lesbians made a retching noise in unplanned unison.

 

“Sorry honey, you aren’t my type,” Charlotte apologised sarcastically. “Something’s just… missing. I think we should stay friends, though!”

 

“Is it because I’m not blonde?” he questioned, wiping his eyes as if he were crying profusely.

  
“Yeah, _definitely_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment and leave kudos!! I'm not lying when I say comments are the most motivating thing in the world.


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